


you're all i need (the very air i breathe)

by spraycansoul



Category: Check Please! (Webcomic)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Corporate, CEO Jack Zimmermann, Fluff, Getting Together, Jack Zimmermann Didn't Go to Samwell, M/M, Office Shenanigans, PA Eric Bittle, Romance, so much fluff tbh, what's wrong with secretary kim au
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-20
Updated: 2020-06-06
Packaged: 2021-03-01 20:21:37
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 10
Words: 56,882
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23753017
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/spraycansoul/pseuds/spraycansoul
Summary: “Whatever I can do for you, just name it, Bittle. It’s yours.”It’s quiet for a moment, and Bittle turns to him, looking a little unsure. Jack’s about to reassure him that he can get it for him, whatever it is, when Bittle suddenly blurts, “You could hire a new assistant.”Jack raises an eyebrow, not quite following. “And why would I need to do that?”Bittle inhales, looking straight into Jack’s eyes with the same steely conviction Jack had hired him for. “Because I’d like to resign.”OR: The What's Wrong With Secretary Kim AU that nobody, literally nobody asked for
Relationships: Eric "Bitty" Bittle/Jack Zimmermann
Comments: 236
Kudos: 367





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> OKAYYYY k-dramas have taken over my life, but apparently even with that going on, I’m having insane omgcp withdrawals and I still can't think of anything other than these dumb hockey boys, so I figured why not mesh the two? What could possible go wrong HAHAHAH??? I've taken a lot of liberties with the plot, and while a lot of this will be based on What's Wrong With Secretary Kim (which is a hilarious and really cute k-drama, if you guys want to check it out) I've basically only taken the parts of the story that I liked (which is mostly the beginning) and I'm winging the rest of it. I have pretty much the whole story plotted, but I'm writing this on the fly so wish me luck!!
> 
> Title is from Ride Home by Ben&Ben!

Jack Zimmermann’s morning routine is so standard, it’s almost mechanical, and that’s exactly how he likes it. 

He wakes up everyday at six o’clock on the dot, his body clock perfectly programmed to have him opening his eyes to the sunshine that streams from the huge windows in his bedroom. After some stretching, he gets changed and goes for his morning run. Once he gets back, he spends the next twenty minutes in the bathroom, getting ready for the day, and then walks into his closet, where his outfit is already prepared, each item carefully selected and matching the day’s activities. Jack allows himself a perfunctory check in the mirror, just to make sure everything’s in place, before heading out to the kitchen, where his assistant, Bittle, is ready and waiting for him. Bittle stands as he approaches, a smile on his face.

“Good morning, Mr. Zimmermann,” Bittle greets in his perpetually cheery tone. “Today’s breakfast is a mushroom omelet with toast. I got you your usual from Annie’s, too, since I dropped by this morning.” He gestures at the paper cup next to Jack’s plate.

Jack nods, picks it up once he’s seated. “Two packets of sugar—”

“And no cream, of course,” Bittle finishes for him, nodding. He resumes his place opposite Jack, picking up his phone and tapping away at who knows what.

Jack takes a bite out of the omelet, chews, and swallows. “What do we have today?”

“Well.” Bittle puts his phone down in exchange for his iPad, waking it with a touch. “You have a ten o’clock with Mr. Oluransi—he’ll drop by your office, says he just needs to run something by you—and then lunch at eleven with Mr. Knight to discuss the possibilities for expanding Sunshine Street in the next year. The afternoon is clear for the proposals on your desk awaiting your approval.” Bittle’s phone vibrates once on the table, which distracts him for a second before he gets back on track. “Oh! And then you have the charity event tonight at the Hilton, where Camilla will be meeting you.”

Jack clears his throat as he finishes his breakfast. “Will you be—”

His question gets cut off by Bittle’s phone ringing loudly, for which Bittle shoots him an apologetic look. He grimaces when he checks the caller ID. “It’s Danforth. Should I take it?”

Jack’s expression hardens. He shakes his head. “It’s probably about the contract failure in Toronto. I don’t have time for my morning to be ruined by his incompetence. I’ll deal with him later.”

“Yes, sir.” Bittle immediately silences the call, slipping his phone into his jacket. He stands gracefully as he gestures to the door. “If you’re ready, sir, I have the driver waiting out front.”

“Let’s go, then.”

Bittle leads the way out, when he suddenly seems to remember something. “Oh! Hold on, just one second,” he says, suddenly turning around to face Jack. Before Jack has time to ask what’s wrong, Bittle reaches up to straighten Jack’s tie, fiddling with it until he steps back and looks up at Jack with a smile. “There you go. Sorry, I’d meant to do that earlier. Slipped my mind.”

Jack nods once as they start walking again. “Thank you.”

Bittle grins as he holds the door. “You’re very welcome, Mr. Zimmermann.”

At the ripe age of thirty, Jack Zimmermann is the CEO and Vice Chairman of Zimmermann Group Holdings, Inc., presently one of the biggest conglomerates in North America, spanning five industries and twelve countries, with its main headquarters in Providence. Jack had always borne the pressure of following in his father’s footsteps, but no one had ever anticipated him to take the business route to Bad Bob Zimmermann’s legacy—as a hockey wunderkind, he was even expected to go first in the NHL Draft when he turned eighteen. But Jack found a different comfort when he stepped foot in the family business—the literal one—one that didn’t come so easily to him on the ice. After all, the company had started as a way for his father to grow the money he’d made playing hockey, with not much consideration for growth or expansion. There was no pressure to be better than his father here; where Bob was great at reading plays on the ice, he was too opportunistic and careless when it came to business.

Jack had risen through the ranks, starting out by shadowing his father and learning the ropes of the business when he was eighteen, to becoming head of strategic management after he’d graduated with honors from Harvard, until finally, Bob decided it was time to hand over the reigns to Jack, who seemed to take to the intensity and competitiveness of the food industry like a duck to water. Jack ran a tight ship and could be famously moody at times, but he was well-respected by everyone who worked for him because as much as he could be strict and uptight, he was always generous and considerate of others. Jack valued his people as much as valued the business’ growth, and this kind of leadership thrust the company into greater expansion than Bad Bob could have ever imagined for his throwaway investment. He had been responsible for many of the company’s achievements in the last five years, and its continued growth had earned him a respectable number of accolades for good management.

Like hockey, running a business is a team sport, and Jack knows he could have never achieved half the things he’d set out to do if not for the support system he has. There’s Byron “Please For the Love of God Call Me SHITTY” Knight, his best friend from college, whom Jack had appointed Chief of Legal Offices as soon as Shitty had graduated from law school. There’s also the seasoned veterans in the industry and have been working in the company for years: Georgia Martin, their General Manager of Operations, Alexei Mashkov, the Chief of Marketing, and Randall Robinson and Sebastien St. Martin, who are the Chiefs of R&D and Finance respectively. Their team is a well-oiled sales machine, turning out profits and raising stock prices left and right.

And then there’s Jack’s perfect assistant, Eric Bittle, who’d been by his side for all of four years, keeping his life in check and making sure everything was in order for him. Bittle had been a doe-eyed fresh grad of Samwell University when Jack had been appointed CEO, disorganized and easily distracted, but there was a light in him that Jack didn’t find in all the other candidates. Bittle seemed to be powered by sunshine and sheer determination, and Jack knew he needed someone with a good attitude and real potential more than a stuffed resume. They’d had a rough start, and Jack can now admit he may have been a little hard on Bittle in the beginning when he’d fumble schedules and misplace important documents. He eventually found out that it was precisely because Bittle was so afraid to disappoint him that he had become so scatterbrained. Jack had given him proper training sessions, then, just to make sure Bittle knew exactly what Jack needed from him, and he had taken the training incredibly seriously. From then on, Bittle was never late and never overlooked anything, ever present and impeccably organized, which Jack is grateful for. He is also very well-liked in the office, seeing as he got along with virtually everybody, always inexplicably armed with baked goods to tempt his co-workers with.

Sitting alone in his office later that day, Jack realizes he's never really expressed his gratitude to Bittle for being the perfect administrative assistant. He’s nothing if not a practical man, and there’s a practical solution, he thinks, buzzing for Bittle just as he finishes up with the proposals on his desk.

Bittle’s carrying his iPad as he lets himself into Jack’s office, bearing a smile. “Did you want some tea, Mr. Zimmermann?” He crosses the large room in quick, purposeful strides until he stands in front of Jack’s desk.

Jack shakes his head. “No, thanks, Bittle.” He hands him a stack of papers. “I’m done with these. You can pass them over to Shitty if you happen to see him again today.”

“Will do, sir.” Bittle nods dutifully, clutching the papers to his chest. “Was that all?”

Jack clears his throat, suddenly feeling awkward for some reason. “No, ah—will you be joining me tonight?” He’d meant to ask earlier at breakfast, but it seemed to have slipped his mind.

Bittle looks up from the stack of papers, frowning at him in confusion. “At the charity event? The Silver Ball?”

“Yes.” Jack grabs a nearby pen and flips it through his fingers just for something to do.

“I. Um.” Bittle’s frown deepens. “Did you… want me there, sir?”

It’s Jack’s turn to frown. “You were invited, weren’t you?”

“Oh, yes! Yes, of course, I was invited, but I just…Well, I assumed since Camilla will be accompanying you, that you didn’t need me to…” Bittle trails off, looking out of the huge glass windows to his right, until he seems to remember where he is. “I mean, but if you want me there, I’ll be there, sir.”

“I do,” Jack says carefully, examining Bittle’s reaction. “Unless you already had plans…?”

Bittle almost trips over himself as he shakes his head violently. “Oh, no. I’m totally free tonight.”

“Okay, then.” Jack grins then, setting the pen down. “That would be all, Bittle, thank you.”

Bittle nods, still looking a little confused, and turns to leave.

“Ah, wait—Bittle?”

“Yes, sir?”

Jack smiles sheepishly. “Maybe I’ll have some of that tea after all?”

Bittle laughs his soft, musical laugh. “Of course. I’ll be right back with that.” 

Later that night, Jack finds himself in a different suit, with his hair slicked back and his social battery almost completely maxed out. Jack can schmooze with clients and investors with the best of them, but he’d always been an introvert and never really enjoyed social functions as much as some people did. The party goes by quickly, with only a minor hiccup when it turns out Jack had forgotten that it was Camilla’s birthday, and he had to skilfully navigate the venue to avoid her while Bittle had run out to get something to give her. He returned quickly, bearing a tastefully elegant bouquet, and Jack idly wondered what he would have done if Bittle had decided not to come with him to this event after all.

Bittle seems to have enjoyed the night himself, if the way he flitted across the room talking to various groups of people all night was any indication. He seemed to totally fit in—nobody seemed to realize he was with Jack as his secretary and not a direct benefactor, maybe because, to his credit, Bittle absolutely looked the part. His suit fit him like a glove, highlighting his lithe figure in all the right places, and he conversed with all the grace of a well-seasoned industry veteran. Watching him then, Jack felt a surge of pride, feeling that maybe he had a part in that somehow.

Afterwards, when they’re both seated in the backseat of the car, Bittle fields a call in straight French. Sometimes his Southern twang still slips into the vowels, but it’s mostly smooth, almost fluent, a huge leap from when he first started learning the language. Jack makes sure to let him know he’s impressed.

When he looks over, Bittle is honest-to-goodness blushing. “Thank you, sir,” Bittle grins, sliding his phone into his pocket. “I’ve been practicing. I couldn’t’ve done it without your help, of course. All those tough lessons and flashcards seem to have paid off.”

Jack cracks a smile. “Only took three years.”

Bittle chuckles softly, shaking his head. “Well, we can’t all be French-Canadian and born with a perfect Quebecois vocabulary.”

Jack hums. “Well, I wasn’t born with the natural gift of charm and eloquence,” he ribs, “so I guess that makes us even. You seemed to have some fun tonight, eh?”

Bittle glances at him, looking sheepish. “You noticed that?”

“Of course.” Jack has to remind himself not to stare at how the redness in Bittle’s cheeks refuses to recede. He looks out at the window instead. “You’ve done an excellent job today. Thank you for coming with me.”

Bittle lets out a little surprised laugh. “Oh, wow. Um, thank you, Mr. Zimmermann.”

“In fact,” Jack says, now looking back at Bittle to make sure he knows he’s being sincere, “you’ve been doing an amazing job for the past few years. I’ve been meaning to thank you. For. You know. Being an excellent assistant.” _Crisse._ Being a well-accomplished CEO hasn’t gotten rid of Jack’s awkwardness at all.

Bittle’s making a funny face now, like he’s confused at the turn this conversation has taken, but not exactly upset by it. His cheeks are still miraculously red. “Oh, um. Don’t mention it, sir. Just a part of the job an’ all.” He gives Jack a small smile.

Jack frowns at the deflection. “Hey, I mean it. I feel like some thanks are in order,” he says. “Whatever I can do for you, just name it, Bittle. It’s yours.”

It’s quiet for a moment, and Bittle turns to him, looking a little unsure. Jack’s about to reassure him that he can get it for him, whatever it is, when Bittle suddenly blurts, “You could hire a new assistant.”

Jack looks at him, unsure if he heard him correctly. “What?”

Bittle sighs softly, but there’s less hesitation when he speaks again. “You’ll need to get a new assistant.”

Jack raises an eyebrow, still not following. “And why would I need to do that?”

Bittle inhales, looking straight into Jack’s eyes with the same steely conviction Jack had hired him for. “Because I’d like to resign.”

Shitty literally spews out the swig of water he’d just taken when Jack tells him. “What the fuck d’you mean, Bitty wants to resign?!” Jack had just recounted the car ride home, after which he had rushed over to his best friend’s flat to ask him for advice.

Jack winces at his volume, sighing as he hands him the nearby box of tissues. “He said it was for personal reasons. I couldn’t follow up to that. What was I supposed to say?”

Shitty’s frowning at Jack like he’d just grown an extra head. “That doesn’t sound like him. Everyone loves the guy! What personal issues could he be dealing with?”

Jack shrugs helplessly. “Maybe it’s family stuff?”

Shitty shakes his head. “Nah, brah, Bitty’s mom is his best friend! Came out to his parents when he graduated college and they took it… well, not so well at first, but they’re good now, s’far as I know.”

Jack squints at Shitty. “Why do you know so much about him?”

Shitty grins. “How could _you_ not? Bitty’s ‘swawesome, bro. You’d know that if you actually hung out with him for once instead of always telling him what to do.”

Jack frowns. “I’m not always telling him what to do,” he says, sounding defensive even to his own ears.

Shitty’s eyes widen. “Bro, what if his personal reason... is you? Because he needs to be with you every second of every day, maybe he’s had enough.” He seems to realize what he had just said and immediately backtracks. “I mean, you’re a great boss, don’t get me wrong. A fucking god among men, you are, my buddy, but maybe… maybe it’s just gotten to be too much for him?”

Jack’s heart stops at the implication. “You think… you think it’s my fault?”

Shitty bolts out of his recliner to sit next to Jack on the couch. “I mean, not necessarily. It could just be him, you know. I know you’d never abuse his kindness or anything like that, you’re a good guy. Maybe even the greatest guy! It’s just… it doesn’t seem like Bitty to quit out of nowhere, huh?”

Jack mulls it over in his head. Sure, he’d been pretty harsh those first few months, but he likes to think he’s more than made up for that with how he’s treated Bittle for the majority of his career. He knows how terrible some bosses can be, and even though the idea that he could be on that level is sort of feeding into his anxiety, he’s self-aware enough to know it’s not like that at all. Bittle rarely takes days off, but it’s not like Jack had ever denied him one. He’s actually quite low-maintenance, as far as CEOs go. It especially doesn’t make sense in the context of the conversation they were having, when Jack was basically offering him anything he wanted. “I don’t know, Shitty. Even if that was his problem, it’s fixable, you know? I could even promote him, if he just needed to get away from me or something. I just don’t understand why he needs to quit the company.” _We could really use someone like him_ , is the next thought that pops into his head, but saying it out loud feels like an admission of something Jack’s not ready to face.

“You’re right. It doesn’t really make sense.” Shitty hums, stroking his mustache. They sit in silence for a few seconds, and Jack’s just about to call it a night and head home when Shitty sits up straighter. “Oh my god, Jack-o. Jacky boy. Jackary.”

Jack rolls his eyes. “What, Shitty?”

Shitty’s grin is absolutely feral. “What if it’s the exact opposite?”

“What do you mean, the opposite? The opposite of what?”

“Aw, come on, man!” Shitty smacks him on the arm. “The opposite of hating you!”

Jack can’t help but scoff when he realizes what he means. “That’s absurd.”

“Think about it, man,” Shitty continues. “You’re an absolute catch. The catchiest catch of them all. He spends twenty-four-motherfucking-seven with you, bro! Why wouldn’t he be in love with you?”

“Think maybe you’re the one who opposite-of-hates me, eh?” Jack chirps, just to deflect.

Shitty slaps his back jovially. “Of course, I opposite-of-hate you, you’re my best friend! But that’s not what we’re talking about!” He seems to settle down, nudging Jack in the side. “C’mon, has there been anything weird between you lately? Like, have you noticed him acting strange or something?”

Jack thinks back on the past week. The easy answer is no, of course, because Bittle is always there, and his presence is the epitome of normality for Jack. Bittle is one of the most reliable constants in Jack’s life. He tries to retrace the past day, really looking for any evidence, and his brain short-circuits when he fixates on something that happened earlier that night. He’d brushed it off as nothing, of course, but—maybe that was an oversight?

Shitty had been waiting patiently, letting Jack run through his internal monologue, but he perks up when Jack turns to look at him. “What?”

“Earlier in the car. Bittle, uh.” Jack scratches at the back of his head. “He… wouldn’t stop blushing.”

Shitty’s eyebrows raise comically. “Wouldn’t stop blushing? What were you guys talking about?”

“I don’t know, I was thanking him, I guess. Complimenting him on his French and his great work.”

Shitty lets out a loud, incredulous laugh. “Well, I guess that’s something, right? He doesn’t usually get blushy around you?”

Jack shakes his head. “There was,” he clears his throat, which for some reason has gone dry, “uh—there was also something at the party earlier. I didn’t think it was such a big deal, and maybe it isn’t, but maybe…”

“What?” Shitty repeats. “What happened? Jack Laurent Zimmermann, I swear to fucking God—”

“Okay, calm down,” Jack says, for both their sakes. “It might be nothing. It probably _is_ nothing. It’s just…” He frowns, trying to recall what exactly had happened. “I forgot it was Camilla’s birthday, and it hadn’t been on Bittle’s calendar either, so he ran out to get her some flowers.”

“O...kay?” Shitty says carefully. “So what?”

Jack wants to ask himself the same question. “So he comes back with this beautiful bouquet in practically no time, but I just remember noticing his eyes looked a little… red, after? And sniffling. Like he’d just been crying or something. I don’t know. It’s probably something completely unrelated.”

Shitty narrows his eyes. “Jack.”

“What?”

“Does Bittle know you’re not dating Camilla?” Shitty speaks slowly, like he’s talking to a child.

Jack crosses his arms petulantly. “Why wouldn’t he? I’ve never called her my girlfriend or anything. And what does that have to do with anything?”

Shitty groans. “That’s not the same thing as him knowing! What if he was upset that he had to go buy flowers for the girlfriend of his boss that he’s in love with?”

“Oh, for Christ’s sake, Shits, he’s not in love with me!” Jack says, throwing his hands up in exasperation.

“THEN WHAT THE FUCK ELSE COULD IT BE?” Shitty shrieks, sinking into the couch next to Jack.

Jack scrubs a hand over his face, frustrated. He truly doesn’t know what else it could be, if he’s being honest. The only thing he does know is that whatever reason Bittle has for wanting to resign, he’s not going to let him go without a fight.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was such a challenge to write because the CEO/Chairman character guy in WWWSK is an oblivious arrogant himbo, and I realized too late that a lot of the story actually hinges on this fact, so trying to write Jack into that role was a fun challenge!
> 
> ALSO I only realized around halfway through that there’s a lot of politics around conglomerates, specifically concerning the exploitation of its front line workers and such, and also weird power dynamics in the office setting, so for the purpose of this story (since it’s a fiction anyway) Jack is running an ethical and socially responsible company that cares for its workers, and also Bitty’s quitting anyway so the power dynamic doesn’t really apply. Much.
> 
> ALSO APPARENTLY, a secretary is different from an assistant. A secretary performs clerical jobs, while an assistant goes beyond that, doing other stuff like organizing teams and events, and making decisions on behalf of their superior. In this story, Bitty is definitely an assistant, not a secretary, although if you’ve seen WWWSK you’d say that Mi-So was also definitely an assistant, not a secretary. ANYWAY BITTY’S QUITTING SO IT DOESN’T REALLY MATTER HAHAHAHA… or does it?
> 
> Thanks for reading!! Chapter 2 is mostly written and I hope to have it up by this time next week 💛


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ok I finished this chapter a couple days ago and said I would wait until I'd finished the next chapter to post but I'm already more than halfway through and I figured if I waited until next week I would probably just end up procrastinating it sO HERE IT IS!! BITTY'S SIDE OF THE STORY

Eric Bittle has a nice life.

Well—okay, life might be a generous word for whatever it is he’s living. He has a nice… living situation. Yeah. That.

He has to wake up at ass o’clock every morning and make his way to his boss’s house, then he spends the majority of his day following him around and running errands and putting out fires and making sure that he’s where he needs to be at all times, before he drops him off again and finally gets to head home, but honestly, the compensation and benefits of his job are more than enough for his lifestyle, and he still gets plenty of time to bake and relax when he gets home and on the weekends. Even his boss is actually pretty great, as bosses go—competent, polite, understanding, and, well, not exactly a pain to look at. It’s… nice.

But it’s decidedly not a life. Bitty knows he only started at Zimmermann Group because he wanted a job in the corporate side of the food industry, so he could learn the ropes and save up enough money to ultimately open up his own business, but he eventually found himself actually enjoying his job and becoming friends with his co-workers. It's a good feeling to be so close to the top at such an early stage in his career and to be _good_ at what he does, and he knew there isn’t a better mentor figure in the industry than Jack Zimmermann, who seems to have the Midas touch when it comes to floundering food businesses. (Of course, Bitty had come to see that behind that effortless, perfect facade, Jack Zimmermann was one of the hardest working people Bitty had ever met, and that he still took medication and saw a therapist for his anxiety.) He would be completely fine, economically, maybe even better off, if he chose to stay as his assistant for any number of years, but Bitty had started to realize that he would never reach his end goal working the insane hours he did. He barely had any time for his friends who weren't also working at the company, and he hasn't gone on a single date since he started working for Jack. The more he thought about it, the more it ate at him—it had been a good four years, but it was time to move on.

Bitty had thankfully gotten through college on an athletic scholarship, so he didn’t have any student loans to plow through. He’d already accumulated enough money to at least cover rent and expenses for the first few months of operation in addition to his own living expenses, and enough practical know-how from watching Jack Zimmermann run several businesses across several countries. He had slowly but surely built a reliable network of suppliers and possible business partners, hell, he even had a name for the bakeshop—all that was left to do was resign from his current job.

His boss had taken the news surprisingly well, looking confused at first (as expected) but he’d eventually snapped back into business mode, just nodding and telling him that he needed to start looking for candidates so he could train his replacement immediately. Bitty had sighed in relief—he wasn’t planning on springing it so suddenly, but Jack had given him the perfect opportunity, and this way, he didn’t have to ramble through his explanation of why. This way, he could finally get resigning out of the way and take real strides towards making his actual dream a reality.

The next day starts out as usual—up at dawn, Jack Zimmermann’s house at 7, office by 7:15. He gets two blissful hours of normal work, which he takes to review some minutes and to put up a job opening announcement on their website, until Jack calls him into his office. Not buzzes, _calls_.

Bitty answers on the second ring. “Mr. Zimmermann’s office, how can I help you?”

“Bittle.” 

Bitty frowns at the sound of his boss’s voice and peeks through the glass walls of his office. “Is everything okay, sir?”

“Can you come in?”

“Oh, um. Of course! Did you want me to bring anything?”

“Just yourself, thank you,” Jack says curtly before hanging up.

Bitty sighs, still confused as to why he felt the need to call when he usually just buzzes, but quickly lets himself into the office. Jack is sitting on one of the leather couches, the ones he uses to discuss Important Matters with Important People.

“You rang?” Bitty can’t help but be a little concerned and little scared of what urgent matter awaits him. 

“Yes. Have a seat, Bittle,” Jack says, gesturing to the couch across him. He has his negotiating face on, his bright blue eyes steely and cold, and it’s mildly terrifying. Underneath all that, though, is a weird set to his shoulders that seems unfamiliar to Bitty—hiked up to ears almost like he’s... nervous? 

Bitty cautiously sinks down onto the couch, willing himself to sit still and not fidget. “What’s going on, sir?”

Jack leans forward slightly, and Bitty braces himself. “Are you sure you want to resign?”

That—was not what he was expecting at all. Bitty breathes a small laugh in relief. “Oh, absolutely, sir.”

“Huh.” Jack blinks at him. Clearly that was not what he wanted to hear. “Absolutely, eh?” he repeats, looking Bitty dead in the eye.

Bitty clears his throat. “Well, yes, sir. I—”

Jack shakes his head, cutting him off. “Bittle, I’m just going to say it. Were you given a competing offer? Is that what this is about?”

Bitty feels like laughing at how ridiculous the prospect is. “What—me? Why would anyone want to pirate _me_?” 

Jack’s expression is completely impassive, which is why Bitty isn’t at all prepared for what comes out of his mouth. “You’re an excellent assistant, Bittle. You’ve been with me for four years, you know practically everything it takes to run this business, not to mention you are in possession of every contact I’ve made in that amount of time. You are an asset to this company, and to me. It’s the only plausible reason you’d want to leave.”

This time, Bitty’s laugh bubbles up before he can control it. “Sir, that’s very kind of you to say, but no,” he says, trying to calm himself down. He looks up at his boss to see his reaction, but if anything, Jack seems to be getting more annoyed.

“Then why?” Jack demands, crossing his arms. It’s almost petulant.

Bitty bites down on his tongue to keep from bursting into another fit of giggles. “Why what?”

“Why do you want to resign?”

Bitty takes a deep breath, schooling his expression into a neutral one. He doesn’t actually want to piss his boss off. “I’ve told you, sir, it’s for personal reasons.”

Jack sighs and his shoulders relax a little. “ _What_ personal reasons?”

Bitty can tell that he’s getting impatient, so he smiles genially. “I just think it’s time to move on. You’re right, I have learned so much here, mostly from you, and I’m so grateful for that! I just want to take some time for myself, you know? See what else the world has to offer and such. Bake some more! Date around, maybe find love or something, I don’t know.” He feels his cheeks heat, suddenly feeling shy about his enthusiasm.

“I knew it.” Jack sighs again, leaning forward to rest his forearms on his knees. “Bittle, you could have just told me you were struggling with the working hours. That’s an easy fix, no need to quit.” Bitty’s about to interject, but Jack plows on. “You don’t have to come to the house in the mornings anymore, and you can go home with everyone else if I have to work overtime. No more weekends and dinner events, too. I can get you your own driver, if you want—”

“Mr. Zimmermann, that’s really not necessary—” 

“No, it’s fine, I insist. I’ll talk to Marty about getting you a raise, too. You’ve more than earned it after all—”

“Excuse me, Mr. Zimmermann, but I don’t think you understand.” Bitty gives him another gentle smile, apologetic for interrupting. “It’s very generous of you to offer all of that, and I promise I don’t take that lightly, but I’m really, _really_ sure about resigning.”

“Bittle, I can’t accept your resignation.” Jack's lips are now pressed into a hard line, his brows almost meeting in the middle. He clasps his hands together before finally settling his icy gaze on Bitty. “You know Danforth has recently been dismissed from his position as the director of the HR department. How would you like to fill that role?”

At this point, Bitty’s moved on from shocked to straight-up impressed—the man is an excellent negotiator, it’s exactly why he’s become so successful in this business. Bitty’s seen Jack’s ruthless determination in action more times than he can count, but he’s never actually been its subject before. He has to admit it’s incredibly tempting—an executive-level managerial position in one of the biggest restaurant companies in the world? After only four years in a clerical job? Who is he to turn _that_ down?

But—and it’s a big but—Bitty has never wanted anything more than having his own bakeshop. Something that was truly his, something that he had built himself from the ground up. He can already see it: what he wants it to look like, what kind of equipment he’ll get for his kitchen, what’s gonna be on his menu. God, forget seeing it—he can already _smell_ it.

Bitty takes a big breath and sits up straighter, looking Jack in the eye for full effect. “Sir, that’s an incredibly generous offer, especially for someone in my position, but I’m afraid I’ll have to decline. I’m sorry, but I really need to do this for myself. I hope you can understand.”

Jack studies at him, eyes narrowed, and it’s only because Bitty’s come to know this man better than anyone else in the past four years that he’s able to detect a hint of frustration in his otherwise flawless poker face. Bitty feels almost naked under Jack’s relentless gaze, and he feels the blood rushing up to his face at the attention.

Finally, after a few excruciating minutes, Jack sighs a final time, running a hand through his hair and slumping back into the couch. “Fine. You’ll have a month to train your replacement, and then you’re free to do whatever you want.”

Bitty grins widely, nodding. He just barely stops himself from jumping up in excitement. “Of course, sir! Thank you so much!”

Jack nods, standing up to full height. “In the meantime, I want you to follow up on the acquisition of The Palace in Boston. If you could call Mr. Reyes—”

Bitty stands as well, following him to his desk and pulling his phone out of his pocket. “Oh! Actually, I received the business plan earlier this morning! I’ll print it out and have that right by your desk in a moment, but I can still call if you want me to.”

He’s already pulling the number up on his phone, but Jack holds his hand up to stop him. “In that case, no need. Call Dr. Rodrigues instead, tell her we’ll need to reschedule the—”

Bitty nods, cutting him off. “Your check-up has already been rescheduled for the eighteenth.”

For some reason, this makes Jack frown. “What about the remodelling of the 12th Avenue branch?”

“I have a list of possible contractors ready, pending your approval, of course.” 

Jack huffs, leaning back onto his chair. “Fine. Have you scheduled a visit to the Arts Center? It’s opening soon, we’ll need to do an inspection.”

“Of course. Director Murray says they’re still acquiring a few more pieces, and there are rooms that have yet to be built, but the building is nearly complete and—”

“ _Crisse de calisse_ , alright, fine, Bittle,” Jack snaps suddenly, glaring at him. “You’re talkative today, eh?”

Bittle raises an eyebrow slightly; he can’t help but be amused at his stoic boss’s unexpected outburst. It feels like a scene straight out of his first year on the job. “I’m just answering your questions, sir,” he says mildly.

“Fine. That would be all, Bittle.” Jack turns his attention to his computer, not sparing Bittle another glance.

Bitty gives him one more smile, even though Jack’s not looking. “Thank you, sir.”

Privately, Bitty had thought that would be the end of it, especially since Jack had been cold to him for the rest of the day. Bitty had taken this as a good sign—it means that it’s finally sinking in for Jack that he really is quitting. In fact, by the end of the day, he has his resignation letter on Jack’s desk and a dozen emails applying for his job, and he’s in the process of scheduling interviews for the next week. He goes home that night feeling lighter than he’s felt in ages—it’s a bit odd to feel this way about leaving a job that he’s grown so much in, but he knows in his heart of hearts that it’s the right move.

Of course, he should have known better than to think that his boss would give up that easily. The next day, Bitty arrives at his desk to find a huge decorative box with a fancy note card addressed to him without a sender or return address. Inside are at least seven different kinds of flour, three different artisanal brands of chocolate, two bottles of Madagascar Vanilla extract, and some of the highest quality maple syrup in the world. Bitty literally gasps when he opens it. 

“Oh, good. They delivered it,” Jack suddenly says from right behind him, making Bitty jump.

“Oh my god—are these from you?” Bitty says, turning to Jack with wide eyes. “I can’t accept this, Mr. Zimmermann, this is absolutely too much, and there’s no reason—”

Jack shakes his head, a smile teasing at the corner of his lips. “It’s yours, Bittle. Enjoy.” 

Bitty sputters after him, but Jack steps straight into his office, leaving no more room for argument. He looks back at the box and wants to cry, half out of excitement and the other half from confusion.

Later that day, Jack invites him to lunch. Not just to sit in and take minutes, but to actually participate in the conversation, apparently. Bitty finds himself in a unique predicament—the food is exquisite, which he’s definitely not used to, but he has to refrain from gushing about his pasta and concentrate on the discussion because, for some reason, Jack keeps asking for his opinion on things. Bitty gets a minor heart attack every time he has to speak up to a bigwig, but overall, he knows it's an amazing networking experience and he lets himself enjoy it while it lasts.

When they get back to the office that afternoon, there’s another box on his desk. Smaller this time, but Bitty knows exactly what it is when he sees the white box and the blue ribbon. “Jack,” he blurts, turning around to block his boss from entering his office.

Jack raises an eyebrow at him, smirking, and Bittle realizes his mistake.

Bitty clears his throat. “ _Mr. Zimmermann_ ,” he corrects, grimacing, “this is really too much. I can’t—”

Jack just laughs and claps a hand on his shoulder. “You already used ‘this is too much’ this morning. Try to come up with a different excuse, eh?” he chirps, and Bitty sighs as he watches him retreat to his office without another word. Again.

Bitty slumps down into his chair in defeat. He tries his hardest to resist, but a minute later, he’s already biting into a chocolate chip Levain cookie and letting out a satisfied moan.

  
  
  


He recounts his ridiculous day to his friends and co-workers later that night over their weekly breakfast-for-dinner at Jerry’s. “I don’t know what to do, y’all. I don’t know why he’s so desperate for me to stay! It’s like he’s going absolutely overboard. It’s so sweet of him, but it’s so _unnecessary!_ ”

Ransom, Holster, and Lardo gape at him silently.

Bitty rolls his eyes at them. “What?”

“Bitty, _please_ tell me you didn’t eat that whole box of cookies,” Ransom says, pleading. Next to him, Holster raises an eyebrow.

Bitty scoffs. “Of course not,” he says, pulling a small paper bag out of his satchel. “The box was too bulky, so I transferred the rest of the cookies.” Ransom makes a move to grab it, but Bitty shields it with his arms. “Uh-uh. You can have them for dessert.”

Ransom and Holster bump fists. “‘Swawesome,” Lardo says.

“Actually, I was thinking maybe I could whip up some macarons for Monday,” Bitty muses. “I think I saw some almond flour in that box.”

Holster lets out a little whine. “But Monday is field day! We need to be in tip-top shape if we want to kick some serious ass!”

Bitty raises an eyebrow at him. “Do you want the cookies or not?”

Holster promptly shuts up, raising his hands up in surrender.

“So, anyway, Bits,” Ransom says, spearing a slice of his pancakes with his fork. “What are you going to do? Obviously you can’t give those back, if you’re already planning what to bake with ‘em.”

Bitty sighs. “I already tried. He kept escaping to his office and wouldn’t let me get a word in.”

Holster snorts. “Classic Zimmermann. Maybe he’s just trying to bribe you into staying or something!”

Ransom’s eyes widen. “Bro, how much do you think that whole baking box cost?”

Holster squints, titling his head like he does when he's calculating. “A couple hundred bucks, at least?”

“Bro, I think I would have been successfully bribed," Ransom says, taking a sip of his coffee.

Bitty chokes on his whoopie pie. “A couple hundred? You cannot be serious!”

“Maybe even up to a thousand.” Holster shrugs. “Don’t sweat it, Bits. The dude’s got mad bank!”

Bitty hides his face in his hands, embarrassed. “Y’all don’t even know _half_ of it. He offered the HR position to me. Danforth’s job.” He laughs at how ridiculous it sounds out loud. “Me! The director of HR!”

For the second time that night, he finds himself being stared at by all three of his friends.

“ _What?_ ” Bitty demands, crossing his arms defensively.

“Bro,” Ransom and Holster say at the same time.

“That is crazy town,” Lardo says. “What did you tell him?”

Bitty shakes his head. “I already said no. I didn’t tell him I was going to resign just to try to get a raise, guys.”

“I dunno, Bits. I think he really wants you to stay. He’s laying it on _pretty_ thick,” Holster says. 

Ransom perks up. “Is there something you know that nobody else knows? Are you keeping secrets for our enigmatic CEO Jacques Laurent Zimmermann?” He lowers his voice to a whisper. “Do you know where he hides the bodies?”

Bitty gasps, smacking Ransom in the arm and laughing. “Jack Zimmermann is many things, but he’s not a serial killer, Rans.”

“Maybe not on purpose,” Ransom shoots back immediately. “His ass probably stops traffic every day.”

Lardo nods solemnly. “So far, a couple hundred casualties, at least.”

Holster exaggerates a swoon, fanning himself. “Man, what a way to go.”

Bitty shakes his head, laughing at his friends’ ridiculousness. He’s just about to comment on their obsession with their boss’s good looks when he suddenly feels an itch in his nose. He reaches for the napkin holder and thankfully gets a tissue to his nose before the sneeze hits.

“Whoa, Bits, you okay there?” Holster says, looking concerned.

Bitty blows his nose one more time to be sure. “Yeah, I’m fine,” he says, taking another tissue. “Pollen season, you know how it is. It’s nothin’ serious. It was a lot worse the other day, trust me.”

“What happened the other day?” Lardo asks.

Bitty rolls his eyes, remembering the unexpected stress that night. “I had to go to that charity Silver Ball thing with Jack. He forgot it was Camilla’s birthday, so I had to run out to get some flowers for her! Ended up sneezin’ all the way back to the hotel, but nobody seemed to notice, at least.”

Lardo raises an eyebrow at him. “Jack invited _you_ to the Silver Ball?” She makes eye contact with Ransom and Holster, who suddenly have matching mischievous grins on their faces.

“ _The_ Jack Zimmermann.” Ransom is looking at Bitty with both eyebrows raised. “Invited _you._ To the Silver Ball.”

“Oh boy,” Holster says, rubbing his hands together. “Here we go.”

Bitty squints at them in suspicion. “Just what are y’all going on about? Technically, I was already invited, it's just a charity function anyhow, but he just specifically asked me to be there and I knew I couldn’t—”

“He _specifically_ _asked you to be there?_ ” Holster repeats, laughing. “Bitty, my boy. I think we’ve just solved your problem.”

Ransom nods in agreement. “It was there all along. Why didn’t we see it?”

“Or maybe we _did_ see it,” Lardo says, smirking. “But clearly this one didn’t.” She points at Bitty with her fork.

Bitty groans. “What the hell are y'all going on about now?”

Ransom places a hand on his shoulder, reaching all the way across the table. “Bitty. The reason why Jack Zimmermann doesn’t want you to quit,” he says slowly, “is because Jack Zimmermann is in love with you.”

Bitty can’t help but laugh at how absurd that statement is. It’s ten different levels of absurd. It doesn’t even exist on this plane of reality. “Oh, ha-ha, hilarious. Of course he’s not in love with me, Rans. That’s just ridiculous.”

“If it’s so ridiculous, why did he take you as his date to the Silver Ball?” Holster challenges, eyebrows raised.

“Why did he go out of his way to offer you an executive position out of the blue just so you wouldn’t quit?”

Lardo snorts. “Dude. He got you flours.”

Ransom and Holster’s eyes both widen comically. “Holy shit,” Ransom whispers. “He got you _flours!_ ” They both start to crack up hysterically. Holster literally tears up from laughing so hard.

Bitty shakes his head, exasperated. “First of all, I wasn’t his date. Camilla was there, remember?”

“Pfft, everyone knows there’s nothing between them,” Ransom says.

Lardo nods in agreement. “They’ve been seen at social gatherings multiple times, but never doing anything even remotely coupley, I don't think.”

“Well, me and Jack don’t do anything remotely coupley either, so there.” Bitty crosses his arms, huffing.

"Hmm, let's see here." Holster rests his elbows on the table and starts ticking his evidence on his fingers. “You’re with him all day, almost every day. He trusts you more than anyone else in this world. He buys you stuff and pays for your meals, like all the time.”

Ransom snaps his fingers at Bitty, suddenly remembering something. “Didn’t he buy you a car?”

Bitty cringes, slumping back into the booth. “That was a long time ago! He only did it because I told him my usual bus has the tendency to be late, and I sold it after three months out of guilt.” He sounds defensive even to his own ears.

Holster clucks his tongue and ticks off another one of his fingers. “He still bought you a car, is the point.”

Bitty looks to Lardo for help, but she just shrugs. “The numbers don’t lie, Bits. There’s a good chance the guy might be in love with you.”

The three of them look at him expectantly, and Bitty sighs, trying to allow himself to indulge in a fantasy where a man like Jack Zimmermann could be in love with someone like Eric Bittle. It’s comical, how out of his league Jack is—his friends were not exaggerating about how attractive he is, and while Bitty can be endlessly professional at work, he’s not blind. That’s not to mention the fact that Jack is his boss, so he’s literally required to spend all that time with him, that’s just his job description, and even though Jack’s done a lot for him over these past years, none of what they’ve actually said point to anything other than Jack’s stubbornness, persistence, and generosity. Sure, Jack had already come out as bisexual, but Bitty had never really seen that in practice. His boss has a single-minded determination that does not lend itself to dating, which Bitty knows very well because he’s in charge of keeping Jack’s schedule.

In conclusion: Jack being in love with him is not just absurd. It’s downright impossible.

“You’ve all gone crazy, I swear,” Bitty insists. “There is exactly a negative twenty million chance that Jack Zimmermann—who’s my boss, by the way—is in love with me.”

That seems to pacify his friends, who for a few seconds, look at him with concern.

“C’mon, Bits,” Ransom says, jostling him a bit. “You’re a fucking catch, bro!”

“Yeah, man, any guy would be lucky to be in love with you,” Holster says, waggling his eyebrows.

Lardo tips her head onto Bitty’s shoulder. “Hey, for the record, if I were Jack Zimmermann, I would probably pull out all the stops to try to get you stay, too.”

Bitty laughs, because if he doesn’t, he’ll start tearing up instead. “Y’all are too sweet.”

“Hey, we’re really gonna miss you, little dude,” Ransom says, serious all of a sudden.

“Promise us you’ll come visit with some pie,” Holster pleads. “And jam. Please. Any flavor. Baker's choice.”

“Why don’t y’all come visit _me_ and support _my_ _shop,_ huh?” Bitty says, fake pouting.

Holster gives him an incredulous look. “Are you kidding us, bro? You’ll have lines out the door for months!”

“—Nay, years!” Ransom interjects dramatically.

“Nay, _decades_ , before we can get to buy anything from you. You won’t need our help at all.” Holster winks at him encouragingly.

Bitty laughs at dumb friends, silently hoping they’re right. It’s honestly a huge risk to be starting his own business in a big city, but he feels more confident taking it when he has great friends who will support him no matter what.

At that moment, his phone chimes on the table. Bitty grabs it to check who it is, and he feels Lardo shift her position to read over his shoulder.

Lardo snorts a laugh. “Speak of the devil,” she says, giving Bitty a knowing look.

Ransom and Holster laugh, too. “What does he want?” Ransom asks.

Bitty sighs. “Asking if I’m free to take a call.”

When he looks up from tapping out a reply, his friends all share a meaningful look.

“Whatever his deal is, Bits, he’s got it _bad_ ,” Holster insists.

Bitty rolls his eyes and is about to retort, but his phone starts ringing in his hands. “Ugh. Excuse me, y’all.”

When he picks up, Jack’s voice sounds tired over the phone. “Bittle? Is this a good time?”

Bitty doesn’t think Jack’s ever asked him that before, always launching straight into whatever he needed to tell Bitty, so the question takes him by surprise. It’s definitely weird, but not really unwelcome, and for some reason, it makes him remember how his friends were so insistent about Jack earlier. Bitty shakes it off, feeling annoyed at himself for even entertaining the thought for a second. It’s probably nothing.

It’s not like he has time to daydream now, anyway. He's got a boss he needs to attend to.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> OH, BOY. HERE WE GO FOLKS NOW WE SEE THE PROBLEM
> 
> JUST A BIT OF TRIVIA: in WWWSK, Secretary Kim resigns with no real plan, just did it cos she was done paying off her loans and didn't really need to work anymore, which I didn't think was a good enough reason at all. Luckily, it was easy to give Bitty a purpose in opening his own business, even though I did a lot of general handwaving about how much one can earn as an assistant in only four years of working. It takes Secretary Kim nine years, but I didn't want them to be THAT old, you know??? THERE'S SOME DUMB ROMANCE TO BE HAD!!!
> 
> ALSO, I realized like halfway through writing this chapter that I’ve never written a whole conversation with R&H and Lardo ever, which is actually nuts because I’ve been writing Check Please fic for years?? And then now I’m like, why haven’t I been writing R&H and Lardo??? THEY’RE THE BEST???
> 
> anyway THANKS FOR READING, I REALLY APPRECIATE ALL THE KUDOS AND COMMENTS 💛 the story picks up after this chapter I swear!! get ready for some shenanigans!! baked goods!!! subconscious jealousy!!! oBLIVIOUS PINING!!!!


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> yo, like... apparently I'm really into writing this right now, so I'm just gonna try to ride the wave and see how much I can write before it runs out ¯\\_(ツ)_/¯

When Jack was younger, his parents had put a lot of emphasis on the importance of hard work and persistence. Because he grew up rich and famous, people had always expected Jack to be spoiled rotten, but they were always surprised to find a quietly determined little boy who was never afraid to get his hands a little dirty. Despite the fact that his parents could forego working for the rest of their life and still have enough money to fund their acquired expensive tastes, they never let him forget that all of that had been a product of years of hard work, of grit and tenacity, of literal blood (in his father’s case), sweat, and tears.

This was especially true of his dad, who had him up at dawn and on the ice during the off-seasons when he was playing in the Q. “One more set, Jacky, come on,” he’d say, when Jack had already been groaning out of pain from the drills they ran every morning. “If you really want something, the only way to get it is to keep pursuing it until it’s yours.”

Since then, Jack had known nothing other than getting what he wanted, not because he was spoiled, but because he always made sure that he did everything he could to achieve his goals. This is why Bittle staying resolute in his decision to resign had thrown him for a loop; after all of his efforts to show Bittle that he and his work were greatly appreciated, Bittle hadn’t budged at all. In fact, Bittle had already scheduled a few interviews for this week, which made Jack even more frustrated about everything. What could he possibly be resigning for that was so important that he could turn down the opportunity to work at an executive level after only four years of experience?

Jack groans, remembering their conversation. _Personal reasons_ , he’d said. _Take some time for myself. Find love._

That last part makes Jack think of Shitty, and how he’d been adamant that Bittle at least had a crush on him. That also threw Jack for a loop, because Bittle had never been anything other than strictly professional with him this whole time. Anyway, there’s no good reason why Bittle would even like Jack in that way—he, of all people, has seen the worst of Jack, how he can be a moody and overbearing asshole when his anxiety gets the best of him. Bittle had always approached those moments with grace and poise, somehow always doing the right thing. If he had to be completely honest with himself, Bittle doesn’t need Jack, not really—that much is clear, if Bittle’s adamant to resign.

No, the truth is, Jack needs Bittle. He can’t imagine doing his job as well as he’d been able to in the past four years if not for Bittle—he’s busier than ever nowadays, and it pains him to even think about what it would be like if he had to train another person from scratch, no matter how diligent they were. He trusted Bittle to pass down the job perfectly, but the problem was that no matter how well he trained his next assistant, it would still probably take months for them to reach Bittle at his prime. No matter how good they might end up being, they wouldn’t be Bittle.

Jack glances at the clock on his bedside table. 3:47 AM, it reads, its glaring red lights mocking him. He doesn’t know why Bittle’s resignation is bothering him so much, to the point of losing sleep, but he knows it’s not acceptable. He needs to come up with a real plan, a plan that will actually convince Bittle to stay in the company, something that will show him that they can achieve so much more together if he would continue to work with Jack, if only so that he could stop worrying about it already and _go to sleep in peace_.

He forces himself to close his eyes and relax. He has the whole of tomorrow to look into it; it’s Field Day, anyway. It’s practically a day off. 

He ends up with only a little over three hours of continuous sleep, and Bittle notices immediately. Jack’s only half awake when he walks into the kitchen for breakfast, still groggy from skipping his usual morning run. He barely registers when Bittle enters the room.

“Good morning, Mr. Zimmer—oh my goodness, are you alright?” Bittle’s by his side in a second, hands hovering in the air like he’s not quite sure what to do.

Jack waves him off, and Bittle diligently takes a step back. “S’fine. Couldn’t sleep last night,” he mumbles, settling down in his usual seat. He rubs at his eyes briefly and yawns. God, he needs to get it together.

Bittle hums from where he stands on the other end of the table, not quite convinced. “I can get you some sleeping pills for tonight, sir, if you want.”

Jack looks up at him then, and it has the effect of a glass of cold water being poured on his head—Bittle is dressed down for Field Day, foregoing his usual pressed suit for a fitted white tee, an open silver windbreaker, and the shortest black running shorts Jack’s ever seen. Jack feels his mouth dry on its own accord.

Bittle shifts and looks down at himself, probably because Jack is staring at him like an idiot, _why couldn’t he just go to sleep last night?_ “Oh Lord, did I spill coffee on my shirt?” Bittle says, pulling at his t-shirt to check, which seems a little moot to Jack given how tight it is.

Jack shakes his head quickly, in answer to Bittle and also to wake himself up. “No! No, sorry, I, uh, spaced out there. Sorry.” He takes a big gulp of his coffee, forcing himself awake.

Bitty laughs uneasily, clutching his iPad to his chest. He looks self-conscious all of a sudden. “It’s Field Day, sir,” he says, like it explains anything.

Jack nods, resolutely paying attention to spreading some jam on his toast. He knew that, obviously—he’s dressed casually himself, in shorts, a polo shirt, and his beat-up Habs cap. He’s even seen Bittle in sports attire before, but never—never in anything quite like this.

“You can sit down, Bittle,” he says, just so that he doesn’t have to think about Bittle’s legs in those shorts anymore. His sleep-deprived brain can only handle so much this early.

Bittle, ever obedient, thankfully obliges, sitting down across him. Jack can feel Bittle watching him for a few moments, but he steadfastly doesn’t look up until Bittle says, “We can be a little late, sir, if you need more time to sleep. I can call Ms. Duan to move the program back, or they can start without us. I’m sure they wouldn’t mind.”

Jack sighs deeply, setting down his knife and fork. “No, it’s fine,” he says. “We’ll be there on time. Let me just finish this coffee.”

“Of course,” Bittle says, but he still doesn’t look convinced. He sets his phone, iPad, and a small Tupperware Jack hadn’t noticed earlier on the table and folds his hands on his lap, still watching Jack with a small crease between his brows.

“Is there something on my face, Bittle?” Jack asks, half-joking, because he doesn’t like the way Bittle is looking at him.

Bittle shakes his head rapidly, looking caught. “I’m just a little worried, sir,” he admits. “You’re not usually up late enough to be this tired. Was there a call from overseas? Did another contract fall through?”

“I’m fine, Bittle,” Jack insists, levelling him with the best serious look he can muster. “Don’t worry about me.”

For some reason, this makes Bittle’s brows furrow even deeper. “I just…” he trails off, suddenly noticing the Tupperware on the table. “Oh, I almost forgot! I brought these for you, as a thank you for the other day.” He picks up the container and sets it back down closer to Jack’s plate. 

Jack opens the container, curious, and finds eight golden little cookies, stuffed with what looks like some sort of berry filling.

“They’re French macarons,” Bittle explains. “I made them PB&J-flavored because… Well.” He gives Jack a sheepish smile. “I know it’s your favorite.”

That makes Jack crack a smile. It’s so thoughtful of him, so consistent with who he is as a person. Jack lifts an eyebrow at him. “Bittle, I gave you that box of baking stuff for you to use and enjoy, not to give back to me as some sort of baked good.”

Bittle rolls his eyes at the chirp, not taking the bait. “You’ll like ‘em, I promise. Just taste one,” he says, gesturing at the container. “I even made the peanut butter from scratch, just so you get your extra dose of protein.”

Jack laughs quietly, shaking his head. He picks one up from the container, sniffing it briefly before taking a bite. He can’t help the muffled groan that he makes when he tastes it. “Bittle, this is incredible!” He finishes the cookie with another bite and immediately reaches for another.

Bittle straight-up giggles, his cheeks turning pink. “I’m glad you like them,” he says, smiling. “Don’t eat them all at once, though!”

Jack’s just finished scarfing down his second macaron, about to take another, but the blush in Bittle’s cheeks distracts him for a split second. “I had a long night,” he says as an excuse to keep eating. “I’m gonna need the sugar rush.”

  
  
  


Field Day, the Zimmermann Group’s annual sports and recreational activities day, is held every summer at Brown Stadium, which they rent out specifically for the purpose of some competitive outdoor fun. This was one of the first initiatives Jack had specifically asked HR to look into, because he knew from personal experience that there is a certain level of trust and respect one could only get from working with other people on a physical activity. Over the past four years, it’s become something that everyone looks forward to, mainly because it’s gotten almost absurdly competitive between departments.

Jack had been enjoying the day, especially grateful that he didn’t have to do anything other than give a short opening message and sit and watch from the stands with Shitty, for the most part. It’s now late in the afternoon, and they’re watching the players line up for one of the last few events of the day, the three-legged race. From where they’re stationed, Jack can just see where his team is huddled in a circle, Birkholtz and Oluransi towering over Bittle and Duan, deeply discussing strategy. 

Shitty catches him looking and elbows him. “I think your boy’s up next!” he teases, pointing to the center of the field where Bittle’s talking to some guy from Finance. He’s gotten rid of his windbreaker but now has a red bandana tied around his head and some eye black smeared on his cheeks. It’s a good look on him.

“He’s not my boy,” Jack grumbles.

Shitty laughs, slapping Jack’s back. “Sure he isn’t.”

Jack rolls his eyes, looking back to where Finance Guy is tying his and Bittle’s ankles together with a red piece of cloth. “Who’s that?” Jack asks, gesturing to Finance Guy with his water bottle.

Shitty peers over his sunglasses. “The guy Bitty’s partnered with?” he asks. “That’s Johnson from Finance. Hell of a guy. You haven’t met him?”

Jack shrugs. “I probably have. I don’t really remember his face, though.”

“Johnson just has one of those faces, man. I was just talking to him earlier! He was really looking forward to today, for some reason. Said it was really important for _the narrative_ ,” Shitty muses, putting emphasis on ‘narrative’ with air quotes.

A whistle blows from somewhere, and cheers erupt from all around them. Bittle and Johnson seem to have taken an early lead, keeping a steady rhythm as they jog across the field together.

“YOU GOT THIS, BITTY!” Shitty yells from next to him, making Jack jump.

“Jesus Christ, Shits,” Jack hisses, rubbing at his ears.

“C’mon, Jacky, live a little!” Shitty says, jostling him. “Your boy’s in the lead!”

Jack doesn’t even bother correcting him, staying focused on the race. Bittle and Johnson are a few strides ahead of everyone, but another pair is quickly gaining on them. Jack watches as Johnson glances to their left at the blue team’s representatives who are catching up, and then he slings an arm around Bittle’s shoulders to speed up. This prompts Bittle to wrap an arm around Johnson's waist, and Jack feels a surge of—something—at the gesture. Annoyance? That was a completely unnecessary move, especially since they were already winning. He takes a swig of his water, just for something to do.

“WOO!” Shitty bellows, jumping up to his feet and clapping. “THERE YA GO, RED TEAM!”

“Will you calm down?” Jack demands. “You weren’t like this for any of the other events.”

Shitty slumps back down on the bleacher, pouting at Jack. “Sorry, man, jeez.” 

They watch as Bittle and Johnson clear the finish line ahead of everybody else, and Shitty cheers along with the rest of the crowd as they’re proclaimed the winners. Jack notices that Bittle and Johnson are directly in front of them but facing the other direction, and watches as they share an enthusiastic high five before going in for a hug. 

Jack frowns when he hears a crinkle, looking down to see that he’s gripped his empty water bottle a little too tightly. “I’m gonna go refill this,” he tells Shitty, who looks at him, confused, but lets him go.

Jack jogs down the stairs to the water fountain, but he makes the mistake of looking out at the field at the exact moment Bittle bends down to untie the red cloth around their ankles, which makes his ridiculously short shorts ride up to reveal even more skin. Jack’s rhythm falters and he trips on the next step, yelping and landing awkwardly on his left ankle, which sends him barrelling down the next few steps to land on his butt.

“Jack!” he hears Shitty exclaim as he races down the steps to where he had fallen. “What happened? Are you okay?”

“I’m fine, I tripped on a step and landed on my ankle,” Jack says, wincing as he tries to get up. A sharp pain rips through his ankle, causing him to sit back down.

Shitty frowns at him, opening his mouth to respond, but suddenly Bittle appears in front of him, flushed and sweaty, probably from running over so quickly. Jack has no idea how he got to the stairs so fast when he was literally on the field just a second ago.

“Oh my gosh, Mr. Zimmermann, are you okay?” Bittle asks, crouching down next to him.

Up close, Bittle’s eyes are so big, and so brown. Jack blames his lack of sleep for how he’s unable to come up with a real response. “Uh.”

“Oh, no.” Bittle looks up at Shitty, looking worried. “Did he hit his head?”

Shitty shakes his head. “I don’t think so, Bits. He said he was going to get some water, and then, bam! The next thing I knew, he’s fallen flat on his bum! Went completely head over heels!”

Jack turns his glare to Shitty, who gives him a wink. He sighs deeply, resisting the strong urge to smack his best friend in the face, and turns to Bittle instead. “I’m fine,” he insists as he tries to stand again. He successfully gets up, but the pain in his ankle resurfaces when he attempts to take a step down.

In a flash, he feels Bittle’s strong arm around his waist catch him before he can fall to the ground again, and Jack reflexively grips Bittle’s shoulder for balance. Bittle huffs a little laugh. “I don’t think you’re fine, sir,” he quips cheekily, assisting Jack as he takes a step down. “Let’s get down to the field and I can get you some ice, then I’ll call the hospital—”

“No,” Jack says quickly. “No hospital.” He doesn’t want to explain how he tripped on air all of a sudden when he hadn’t been doing anything physical all day.

Bittle frowns up at him, and when Jack turns to look, Bittle is much closer to him than he expects. Fortunately, this doesn’t seem to phase Bittle at all. “But we need to get your ankle checked! What if it’s serious?”

Jack scoffs. “I slipped down the stairs and landed wrong, Bittle. I promise you it’s nothing serious,” he reassures him.

Bittle still doesn’t look convinced when they reach the foot of the stairs, where Oluransi and Birkholtz are waiting, looking concerned. He opens his mouth to say something, but Oluransi steps up to meet them. “I can take it from here, Bits—”

“RANSOM, MY GUY!” Shitty bellows suddenly, pushing past them. “Long time, no see, man!” 

Oluransi frowns at him. “Shitty, we just saw each other this—”

Shitty ignores him, thumping him on the back and pulling him down to whisper something in his ear, which makes Oluransi grin, for some reason. He passes on whatever Shitty told him to Birkholtz, which puts an equally suspicious grin on his face, too. Jack scowls at Shitty, who ignores him and says, “C’mon, guys, let’s go get some hotdogs!” He gives Jack a thumbs up as he drags his communication officers away quickly.

Bitty turns to him in confusion, tightening his grip around Jack’s waist as they start walking again. “What was that about?”

Jack shakes his head, resigned. “I honestly don’t want to know.”

Bittle helps him limp all the way to the bench, his arm wrapped tightly around Jack’s waist, which, stupidly, makes Jack think about the three-legged race earlier. He hopes his huff of frustration comes off to Bittle as something out of the pain in his foot, and not of the distracting errant thoughts he’s been having all day.

Bittle helps him sit down, his arm slipping away, and runs off to get some ice. He comes back holding a dripping Ziploc of ice wrapped in a towel and a bottle of blue Gatorade. He hands the drink to Jack. “You looked a little red,” he explains. “I thought you might want something to drink.”

Jack nods gratefully, twisting the bottle open and taking a big gulp. He obliges Bittle when he nudges his leg up on a small cooler, trying not to wince as Bittle sits on his haunches to take off his sneaker and press the ice to his ankle. 

“How’s that?” Bittle asks him, resting a hand on Jack’s shin. Bittle’s palm is damp and cold from the ice, and Jack tries to focus on that instead of the soreness in his ankle.

“Uh, a little lower?” Bittle adjusts his hold slightly. “Ah, right there.”

Bittle presses the makeshift ice pack to Jack’s ankle as he looks around for something, frowning when he doesn’t find it. Suddenly, he pulls off his bandana, tousling his hair and making his cowlick stick up even more, and he uses it to secure the ice on his ankle, tying it firmly so it doesn’t fall.

“Better?” Bittle asks, resting his hands on his knees and looking up at him.

Jack coughs and looks away. “Yes, thank you, Bittle.”

Bittle gives him a small smile as he gets up and takes a seat next to Jack.

“You don’t have to babysit me,” Jack says, wincing when he hears his gruff tone. “I mean—it’s Field Day. You should enjoy it.”

Bittle shakes his head. “It’s okay. I kind of wanted to sit down, actually.” He runs a hand through his hair in a futile attempt to get it to settle down.

They sit in a companionable silence, watching as the four teams gather on the field for the final relay race. The whistle is blown, and he sees Oluransi drop to his hands and knees, presumably to be the wheelbarrow, while Birkholtz grabs his legs and starts steering them forward. Oluransi doesn’t adjust quickly enough and ends up with his face in the grass. Jack can hear raucous laughter from the rest of the red team while his two officers start shouting obscenities at each other before restarting.

“Did you have fun?” Jack suddenly feels the need to ask, looking over at Bittle.

Bittle gives him a funny look, a cross between incredulous and amused. “Yeah, I had fun. Did you have fun?”

That makes Jack huff a laugh. “Not as much as you, probably. There’s not much to do in the stands.”

Bittle hums. “Maybe you should join in next year. You’ll probably decimate everyone in seconds, but at least you can have a little fun.” He gives Jack a teasing grin.

Jack shakes his head, smiling. “Won’t be as fun if I can’t beat you at anything,” he says, before realizing how that must have sounded. “I mean, since you’re…” _Wow, way to kill the mood, Zimmermann._

Bittle’s smile falters a little, but he quickly recovers, shrugging casually. “Not like you could beat me at anything, anyway.”

Jack’s mouth drops open at Bittle’s chirp, and he raises an eyebrow at him. “Was that a challenge, Bittle?” 

Bittle laughs. “I was just kidding, sir. Besides,” he says, jerking his head towards Jack’s ankle, “I wouldn’t challenge an injured person. Now that would just be cruel.”

Jack laughs, shaking his head. “Go to your team, Bittle. I think they’re just about to announce the winners.” Bittle looks ready to argue, but Jack silences him with a look. “That wasn’t a suggestion. Go, have fun.”

“Ugh. Fine.” Bittle begrudgingly gets up, but he reaches down and tightens his bandana around Jack’s ankle for good measure. “Don’t go anywhere,” he tells him sternly.

Jack nods seriously, tracing a cross over his chest with a finger. “Wouldn’t dream of it, Bittle.”

Bittle nods, seemingly satisfied, before running off to join his team, and if Jack lets himself enjoy watching Bittle walk away, just a little bit—well, nobody needs to know, right?

  
  
  


Later that night, as Jack is going through his emails in the kitchen, it hits him that he still hasn't come up with a plan to get Bittle to stay. He hadn’t anticipated being weirdly invested in the events of the day, and he certainly hadn’t expected to sustain a minor injury—which meant he was still at a loss when it came to what could convince Bittle not to leave the company. So far, all of his approaches haven’t worked; the tokens of gratitude, opportunities to network, and even the promise of promotion had all gone over Bittle’s head. He needed to find something that would really speak to Bittle, and that’s when he realized: the thing that had been plaguing him all night (and really, since last week) was nothing but an incredibly specific marketing problem. 

Jack tries to think of what he used to do when he had to develop a new campaign. He knows he always, always begins with hard data, with numbers, but he’d already done the numbers, and that failed spectacularly. When the numbers fall through, he goes to qualitative research: trends, perception, insights. He could ask around—Shitty knows Bittle pretty well, and he’s sure Oluransi, Birkholtz, and Duan would also be willing to help—but he also knew from experience that the best way to know your audience was to go to them directly.

He taps absently on his keyboard, trying to come up with an excuse to spend some time with Bittle outside of the office that wouldn’t be too weird or forced, when he catches sight of the Tupperware Bittle had brought earlier this morning, empty now except for some leftover crumbs. It’s a good excuse, as far as excuses go, and Jack decides to run with it. He texts Bittle, asking if he’s home, and once he gets the affirmative, gets in his car and drives without another word. (He spares a second to thank God that it was his left foot that was mildly sprained.)

In the past four years, Jack had only ever waited outside Bittle’s building, but he’s been there enough to know where it is. It’s a pretty new building in a busy neighborhood, but it’s smaller compared to the other buildings around it, probably only around five storeys tall. Jack parks directly in front of the building and climbs up the few steps with just a little trouble (not that he’d ever admit it) before ringing the doorbell under Bittle’s name.

It only takes a couple minutes until the front door opens, revealing an adorably rumpled Bittle, sporting a ratty oversized t-shirt, another pair of really short shorts that barely peek out from under his shirt, and an incredibly confused expression. Bittle’s mouth falls open when he realizes who’s at the door. “Oh my gosh—Mr. Zimmermann! What are you doing here—why aren’t you resting your ankle?” 

Jack raises the Tupperware in his hands. “I forgot to give this back to you. Thank you for the macarons, by the way. They were really good.”

Bitty frowns at him for a few seconds, and then he busts out laughing. “You know you could have given it back to me tomorrow? Or the next day. Or literally any other time that would be more convenient for you.”

Jack shrugs. “I thought you might need it. I wasn’t doing anything, anyway, and you live nearby. It’s no trouble.”

Bittle raises an eyebrow, crossing his arms as he leans on the doorframe. “Except you’re injured, not to mention sleep deprived, and it’s almost an hour past your bedtime.”

He’s right, so Jack doesn’t really have a good answer to that. He settles for another shrug.

Bittle gives Jack a smile with an exaggerated sigh. “Only you, Mr. Zimmermann.” He takes the Tupperware when Jack hands it to him. “Thank you.”

They both stand there for a few seconds in awkward silence, and Jack is desperately wracking his brain for another topic of conversation that won’t seem stilted when Bittle says, “Do you want to come inside? I’m just watching some random rom com on Netflix, and I just finished making a strawberry cream pie that I could use some help eating.”

Jack’s about to decline automatically, but Bittle looks so earnest and inviting and, to be honest, a strawberry cream pie does sound pretty good right now. It’s not like he had any important emails to get to, anyhow. “Are you sure? I don’t want to put you out or anything. I can just—”

“Nonsense, Mr. Zimmermann,” Bittle cuts him off, grinning. “Pies are always better with company!”

Jack doesn’t stay too long, because he knows they both shouldn’t be up too late and he really does need to catch up on sleep, but he allows himself to sit next to Bittle on his couch and enjoy the slice of pie he’s given as they watch a movie about a figure skater paired with an ex-hockey player competing in the Olympics. He learns that Bittle used to be a competitive figure skater in his youth, that he moved on to hockey and played all throughout college (which Jack wonders how he didn’t already know somehow, though it would explain why everyone inexplicably called him _Bitty_ ), and that he learned this particular pie recipe from his grandmother ( _Moomaw,_ he’d called her) when he was eight years old. He finds out that Bittle is the sort of person who likes to fill up his space with trinkets and picture frames and novelty items, that his favorite color seems to be red as a hangover from his Samwell days, and that he has an unparalleled devotion to a singer named Beyonce (???).

Later, when Jack’s finally in bed, he realizes two things. The first is that he really should have spent more time getting to know Bittle these past few years—it’s a little weird that he’s only learning so much about his assistant, who he spends practically all day with, when he’s literally a month away from resigning.

The second is that he still has no idea what the hell he’s going to do about the fact that his assistant is literally a month away from resigning.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So apparently being a management major and taking marketing classes had a use after all! HAHAHA 
> 
> TO CROSS OUT OF MY FIC BINGO:  
> \- BOTH OF THEM THINKING THEY’RE OUT OF EACH OTHER’S LEAGUE  
> \- JACK/BITTY OGLING AT EACH OTHER FROM AFAR AND NOT REALIZING IT  
> \- JACK LOVING BITTY’S BAKING DESPITE TRYING NOT TO
> 
> OKAAAYYY SOOO in WWWSK, during the apartment scene, Secretary Kim invites the Vice Chairman to have some ramyeon with her, which is apparently a euphemism for sex in South Korea. So I thought, hmmm, what’s something that Bitty can invite Jack in for that is a euphemism for sex in the Western world but is also not obvious for either of them to realize it? Needless to say, when Bitty tells the crew that he invited Jack into his apartment for “Netflix and strawberry cream pie”, their grins can only be described as shit-eating.
> 
> Thanks again for reading/kudos-ing/commenting!! ❤️❤️❤️ Up next: Meet Bitty's replacement!!! An office crisis!!! A not-a-date-but-it-sure-feels-like-a-date??? ICE SKATING???


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sorry for any and all typos!! i barely proofread this cos i got too excited to post, i'll read through it in the morning when i'm more coherent!!

After Field Day, the rest of the week blessedly goes on without another hitch. Bitty successfully convinces Jack to get his ankle checked out the next day, and they thankfully find out it really isn’t serious at all, not even a mild sprain. Bitty is only able to endure Jack’s smugness the whole car ride back to the office because of how secretly relieved he is that he wasn’t actually hurt. They start interviewing job applicants later that day, and by Thursday, they’ve already selected the worthiest prospect: Christopher “Chowder” Chow, a lovely and enthusiastic young man who used to work as an administrative assistant at an ad agency in Boston. Chowder has a refreshing energy about him that Bitty admires, always excited about every little task, and he’s well-organized and has enough experience under his belt to handle the pressure that comes with working for Jack Zimmermann. Privately, Bitty had thought that Jack would be put off by Chowder’s animated personality, but he’d been pleasantly surprised to find Jack quietly amused by Chowder’s (admittedly endearing, but sometimes overwhelming) mannerisms, and visibly impressed with his determination. 

(Privately, Bitty also thought Jack had been officially sold on Chowder when he found out that he was the starting goalie for his college team. Jack seems to have a soft spot for people who have any sort of connection to hockey, whether he detects it or not. Bitty will always remember the adorably shell-shocked face Jack made when he found out that Bitty used to play in college, too.)

Jack takes off early on Friday to meet his parents who are in town for a visit, miraculously freeing up the rest of the day and the following weekend for Bitty to test recipes and try to narrow down his menu. He finds himself knee deep in pies, scones, cupcakes, cookies, cinnamon rolls—pretty much every kind of pastry he’s ever learned how to make, and then some—and ends up giving most of them away to his pleasantly surprised neighbors.

If he’s being honest with himself, he only goes completely overboard as a result of actively trying not to think about what’s going to happen once he’s officially quit his job. There’s a black cloud of uncertainty that looms over his head as he pops tray after tray into his poor overworked oven—is he really trading in a life of familiarity and security for the risk of opening the bakeshop of his dreams? Is it worth it to leave his friends and his (gorgeous, kind, generous) boss to gamble at a successful business of his own? Why is he even thinking about this now, when he still has about a month left in his current job, anyway? Mmm, do these brownies need more sugar? More dark chocolate? Maybe another pinch of salt?

Bitty bakes out his anxiety until he literally runs out of things to bake, and then he collapses on his couch, feeling lighter than he has in a while. The next thing he knows, he’s waking up to sunshine streaming out of his living room windows.

Wait a minute. That can’t be right. Bitty never wakes up to the sun on a weekday. He bolts upright and grabs his phone to check the time. 6:53 AM, it reads, mocking him.

“Fuck me,” Bitty groans, rushing to the bathroom.

He gets ready in record time—he only allows himself a few minutes to do his hair, and his cowlick is still stubbornly sticking up, but it’ll have to do—and he makes sure to quickly assemble a small pile of baked goods to apologize to Jack for being late, before he’s running out of the front door—and right smack into a stranger’s solid chest. The force of the collision knocks him backwards, but the stranger reaches out to steady Bitty with two strong hands on his biceps. 

Bitty feels his cheeks heat in embarrassment as he tries to find his footing. “Oh my goodness, I’m so sorry—”

“Bittle,” a familiar gruff voice says, and Bitty looks up to find none other than Jack Zimmermann looking down at him with an amused grin.

 _Oh my god,_ Bitty thinks dumbly, frozen to his spot. _His eyes are so blue._ _Have they always been this blue?_

“You’re late,” Jack says, bringing him back to the present. He steps away, shoving his hands in his pockets.

Bitty closes his eyes and wills himself to dissolve into the ground. When that doesn’t work, he opens his eyes to find Jack still looking at him expectantly. He takes a deep breath. “Mr. Zimmermann, I am so, so sorry. I was up all night baking and I guess I slept through my alarm or something, but I promise it won’t happen again—”

“Bittle,” Jack says again, effectively ending Bitty’s panicked ramble. “Let’s go, eh? We’re going to be late for our meeting with George and her team.” Jack jerks his head towards the black Range Rover that’s parked across the street and starts walking briskly.

Bitty follows Jack, confused. This was Jack’s personal car, not the one usually driven for work. “Did you, um—did you drive here, sir?”

Jack gestures for him to get in, and Bitty scrambles into the passenger seat, setting the box of pastries on his lap and strapping on his seatbelt. Jack buckles himself in and starts the car before answering his question. “You weren’t there when I had breakfast, which was weird, so I called Fitzgerald to ask where you were. He said that he had waited for your text but since you never got back to him, he thought that we’d gone ahead. He went straight to the office.” Jack glances over at Bitty once he’s maneuvered out of his parking space, a wry grin on his face. “I just thought you might need a ride.”

“You thought I might need a…” Bitty trails off, stunned at how his day is going. He’s still embarrassed about having been late in the first place, but Jack doesn’t seem upset in the slightest, which is also really confusing because he knows Jack doesn’t like his routine being disrupted. He clears his throat, willing himself to face Jack. “Mr. Zimmermann, I’m really sorry. And—thank you for bein’ so thoughtful, but you really could have gone ahead, I would have gotten to the office one way or another without all this extra hassle for you.”

Jack snorts. “It’s fine, Bittle. It’s not like you were out of the way.”

Bitty shakes his head insistently. “But still, I can’t expect you to—”

“Clearly, you weren’t expecting me,” Jack chirps, the corner of his mouth ticking upward. “It’s okay, Bittle. You’re golden.” He smiles at Bitty then, _really_ smiles, and it’s sincerity in his eyes that makes Bitty’s argument crumble.

Bitty stares at him, wondering if he’s somehow dreamt this whole sequence, because he can’t possibly be sitting in Jack Zimmermann’s car, late for work, with Jack Zimmermann smiling at him like he’s somehow happy about it. It simply cannot be real. When Jack catches him staring, he raises a questioning eyebrow. Bitty sighs, letting the tension in his shoulders fall away slightly. “Thank you, sir.” He may be completely shocked and confused at the turn of the events, but that’s not going to be enough for him to forget his manners.

For some unknown reason, this makes Jack’s smile widen. “You’re welcome.”

  
  
  


When they get to the office, they find Chowder waiting by the elevators. He perks up immediately when he notices them approaching. “Good morning, Mr. Zimmermann! Hi, Bitty! I got you guys coffee!” He raises the drink carrier in his hands with a huge grin.

“Thanks, Chow,” Jack says, accepting his cup with a nod. “Is this—”

“Black coffee, sir. Two sugars,” Chowder recites dutifully.

Bitty beams proudly at him, giving him a thumbs up as they follow Jack into the elevator.

As soon as Jack turns around to face the closing doors, Chowder nudges Bitty, handing over another cup. “I wasn’t sure what you like, so I got you a vanilla latte,” he whispers.

Bitty wants to tear up. He doesn’t know what he ever did to deserve such a great morning, but he’s going to take it. “Oh, honey, you are an absolute angel! A vanilla latte sounds perfect, thank you”

Chowder grins at him. “No problem, boss!”

Bitty… kind of likes the sound of that. He thinks he’ll definitely have to get used to it if he’s going to open and manage his own bakeshop soon.

The elevator dings, signalling their arrival, and Jack steps out first before turning to them. “I’m going to go check on Shitty’s progress first, so you can go ahead. Bittle, make sure Chowder meets the team and knows where everything is.”

“Of course, sir. We’ll drop by Stakeholder Relations and then I’ll give him a little tour of our floor.”

“Great.” Jack nods at them once before starting down the hallway.

Bitty turns to Chowder, motioning him towards the opposite direction. “C’mon, let’s go meet the team! You’re going to love them.”

As they walk down the hall, Bitty points out the break room, the bathrooms, and the conference room, until they reach the open work room at the end of the hall. Ransom and Holster are both furiously typing on their computers, and Lardo is angrily berating someone on the phone in the corner.

“Good morning, y’all!” Bitty says to get everyone’s attention.

“What’s so good about it?” Holster deadpans, not even sparing them a look.

“Bitty! Thank God you’re here,” Ransom says, rushing over to meet him. He immediately grabs Bitty’s arm to yank him into the office, and that’s when he notices Chowder. “Wait, who’s this?”

“ _This_ ,” Bitty says pointedly, “is Chowder, Mr. Zimmermann’s new assistant. Chowder, this is Ransom, our Communication Officer. That over there by the fax machine is Holster, his Co-Communication Officer and that’s Lardo on the phone, our Stakeholder Relations Manager.”

“‘Sup, bro,” Holster says. Lardo raises her hand in a quick wave.

Chowder extends his hand to Ransom with a toothy grin. “Hi! Nice to meet you!”

Ransom smiles at Chowder, grabs his hand and pulls him into a bro hug, slapping his back. “Welcome to the team, bro! Glad to have you.” He pulls away quickly and turns to Bitty, his eyes widening. “Bits. Code red.”

Bitty frowns, following him to where Holster is seated. “What’s going on?”

Holster groans, running a hand through his hair in frustration. “We found out those dickbags at Lax Co. are moving up the opening of their museum to early August.”

“But _our_ art center is supposed to open in August,” Bitty points out, reading the statement on the computer.

“Is that a problem?” Chowder asks, looking a little overwhelmed at the sudden turn of events.

“Chyeah, bro, big time,” Ransom says, crossing his arms. 

Bitty takes pity on Chowder. “Our opening was scheduled for the 20th. Now they’re going to open before us and steal our thunder,” he explains patiently.

Chowder gasps, eyes wide. “Oh, no!”

“Oh, honey,” Bitty says, patting Chowder on the shoulder sympathetically. “Looks like you’re getting a trial by fire.”

Holster tsks. “Fuck, man, what are we going to do? Zimmermann’s gonna be so pissed.”

Lardo puts the phone down forcefully, making them all look at her. “He was already bothered that the dates were so close, and now they’re going to open first.”

Bitty takes a breath, pulling out his tablet. “He’s at Shitty’s right now, so we have a few minutes before he comes in to come up with a couple solutions—”

“There’s only one solution.”

They all turn to find Jack standing at the end of the hallway, his expression impassive. Holster scrambles to stand up as they all mumble their greetings.

Jack waves them off, stepping into the work room. “We’re moving our opening to July.”

The team shares a nervous look, and Ransom steps up. “Sir, July starts in a couple of days,” he says, sounding unsure.

Jack raises an eyebrow, as if to challenge him.

“We’ll make it work,” Bitty blurts suddenly, before he’s able to think better of it. He feels more than sees the team’s piercing glares at him, but it’s all worth it when Jack directs a satisfied smile at him.

“Good,” Jack says, nodding. “Get to work then. Bittle, cancel the meeting with George and let Murray know we’ll drop by the art center this afternoon.”

“Yes, sir,” Bitty calls after Jack’s retreating figure.

Once he’s out of earshot, they all breathe a collective sigh of relief.

“Well, you heard the man,” Lardo says, clapping her hands. “Chop-chop, boys!”

Ransom and Holster groan, but Lardo gives Bitty a wink, so he counts it as a win.

  
  
  


Bitty spends the rest of the morning running Chowder through Jack’s usual day, introducing him to everyone else on the floor, and teaching him how to use the coffee machine. Chowder takes every task like a pro, and Bitty even lets him field some phone calls on his behalf when he goes to take his lunch break.

When 3 o’clock rolls around, Jack steps out of his office and looks at Bitty expectantly. “Shall we, Bittle?”

Bitty stands from behind his desk, turning to Chowder. “I’ll be accompanying Mr. Zimmermann to the art center, so you’ll have to hold down the fort here. Think you can handle it?”

Chowder lights up. “Yes, sir!”

“Great! Call me if you need anything,” Bitty says, before turning to Jack. “Car’s waiting downstairs, sir.”

Jack shakes his head. “It’s okay, I’ll drive.”

“Are you sure, sir? Fitz is already—”

“Tell Fitzgerald he can go home,” Jack says. “My car’s here, anyway. This way, we don’t have to drive back. Let’s go.”

Bitty opens his mouth to argue, but Jack’s already started walking down the hallway. Bitty turns his confused frown to Chowder, who just shrugs at him good-naturedly.

When they get to the Faber Memorial Art Center, Murray takes them on a tour of the facilities that have already been fully decorated and furnished. The library is the most completed out of all of the wings, and the opening for it has already been coordinated, with dates and special guests finalized. They run into a snag for the art wing’s opening, though—it has most of the pieces already installed, except for the centerpiece of the main exhibition.

“It’s a 3D wire mesh project, and it’s taking time to move and install it because of the unprinted parts,” Murray explains as they enter the exhibition hall.

Jack turns to Bitty. “What do you think?”

“Uh,” Bitty stammers, caught off-guard, but he gathers his wits quickly and turns to Murray. “Maybe you could allow them to work on the project here, then? There’s plenty of space, and that will cut the transport costs, too.”

Murray nods, jotting it down on his clipboard. “Will do.” He continues leading them through the exhibit, pausing at the installations of note.

When Bitty finds the courage to look at Jack, he looks impressed. “Great idea, Bittle,” he says.

Bitty feels the blood rushing up to his face in an instant. “Thank you, sir.”

Murray shows them the concert hall and the makerspace, which are both still in the final stages of construction. The last stop on the tour is the ice rink, which is a large, open hall with huge glass windows taking up an entire wall. The afternoon light casts an ethereal glow on the ice, the sight of it making Bitty’s breath catch as soon as they step into the room.

“Wow,” he breathes, unable to stop himself.

To his right, Jack lets out a low whistle. “Beautiful.”

Murray chuckles. “It’s my favorite room, too. I’ll let you guys look around,” he says, clapping Bitty on the shoulder. “There are some skates behind the counter and the ice is fresh, if you want to skate for a bit.”

Bitty itches to get on the ice, but he knows better than to set himself up for disappointment. He follows Jack further into the room instead, watching him take everything in. Bitty doesn’t think he’s ever seen Jack around ice before, let alone on it, but he imagines it has a similar calming effect on him as it does on Bitty. After the stress of the day, it’s good to see Jack’s expression so relaxed. Bitty wishes he could see Jack like this more often, looking so young and open and carefree.

After a few moments, Jack turns to him. “Why don’t we put your theory to the test, eh?”

Bitty blinks at him. “What theory?”

“That I couldn’t beat you,” Jack says simply. He laughs when all Bitty gives him is a blank expression. “Field Day. Ring a bell?”

Bitty…can’t believe that Jack remembered that just now. It was a throwaway comment, something he said just to keep the mood light and get Jack to smile when he’d hurt his ankle.

“Come on,” Jack says, beckoning Bitty towards the ice. “Just one lap. Loser buys coffee.”

Bitty shakes his head, despite every cell in his body vibrating in excitement. “I-I really don’t think we should, Mr. Zimmermann.”

Jack rolls his eyes. “It’s my rink, Bittle,” he says, which makes Bitty stutter a laugh. “You were a D-1 NCAA player, yeah? What are you so afraid of?”

 _You_ , Bitty wants to say. He’s afraid that skating with Jack will veer into strictly unprofessional territory and that his bulletproof resolve will crumble under the pressure of one of Jack’s rare genuine smiles while they’re doing something he really loves. He’s gone four years successfully silencing the part of him that thinks that his boss is probably the single most attractive man he’s ever laid his eyes on in his life and ignoring ever errant thought that might make him think he’s got even a sliver of a chance with this man. There’s no way he’s going to stop now, not when he’s only got less than a month to keep pretending.

But Jack looks so painfully hopeful, and he just knows if he says no, Jack’s going to skate anyway, and then he’ll have to watch from the bleachers, consumed with envy and annoyed with himself for depriving himself of the opportunity to skate with Jack Zimmermann...

 _Welp_. So much for his bulletproof resolve. Bitty gives Jack the best innocent look he can muster and hams up his accent. “Gosh, I just don’t want to race against someone who was recently injured. It’s just not fair.”

Jack scoffs, but a grin spreads across his face. “So it must be an easy win for you then, eh?” he taunts.

Bitty lets him stew for a few moments, enjoying the fact that he apparently gets to tease his boss like this. Finally, he lets out an exaggerated sigh. “Ugh, I guess,” he says.

“Yes!” Jack pumps his fist like he’s just scored a goal. It’s disgustingly adorable.

Bitty shakes his head, laughing as he follows Jack to the skate rental. The skates are all brand new, lined up neatly on the shelves, and Jack raises an eyebrow at him when he selects a pair of figure skates.

Bitty smirks at Jack as they lace up. When he’s done, he gets up and points his toe at Jack. “Toe pick,” he says loftily, hoping Jack will get it.

Jack doesn’t disappoint. “Something to do with personal hygiene, eh?” he deadpans.

Bitty laughs, following Jack to the ice. “So how are we doing this?” he asks.

Jack seems to seriously consider it. “One lap, starting at the center line?” he suggests, gliding onto the ice gracefully.

Bitty gets on the ice himself, and it’s like his whole body breathes a sigh of relief. “Sounds good,” he says, speeding past Jack to the center line.

“Hey, no cheating!” Jack calls, catching up to him.

Bitty sticks his tongue out teasingly, getting into the starting position. Jack lines up beside him, rolling up his sleeves and bending his knees.

“Ready, Bittle?” Jack glances at him, grinning.

Bitty nods. “Count it off,” he says.

“Ready, set, go!” Jack says, and they both take off at the same time.

Bitty starts out a few strides ahead of Jack and tries to focus on maintaining his lead. He’s not skating that hard, not yet, but he knows he’ll have to speed up soon, because Jack’s not far behind him. He chances a look back at Jack as they turn a corner, and Jack looks really focused, the way he does when he’s negotiating someone into a corner. Bitty laughs at how seriously he’s taking this, but it makes him push harder. 

Jack catches up to him after the last turn, but Bitty breaks into a real sprint to cover the last few feet. “Yes!” he shouts as he skates across the center line, winning the race cleanly. He lets his momentum carry him all the way to the far boards, kneeling into a fist-pumping celly.

Jack groans, coming to a hard stop and spraying Bitty with snow. “Jesus, Bittle, warn a guy next time.” He doubles over, trying to catch his breath, but he’s smiling.

“Hey, I _did_ warn you,” Bitty reminds him, smirking. “You asked for it.”

Jack shakes his head. “You had an unfair advantage,” he says, nodding at the figure skates.

Bitty rolls his eyes. “Oh, honey, I always knew you were a sore loser,” he chirps, skating away from Jack teasingly. He catches himself too late, the endearment slipping out almost naturally.

Jack lets out a startled laugh, and Bitty thinks he sees his cheeks turn a little pink. “What did you just call me?”

Bitty shrugs casually, desperately hoping Jack is referring to the “loser” part and not the “honey” part. “I said what I said.”

Jack laughs again, following him out to center ice. They both skate idly for a few minutes, going around the rink a couple more times at a leisurely pace and enjoying their time on the ice in a comfortable silence, when Jack suddenly turns around to face Bitty, skating backwards.

“In all seriousness, though, you’re probably one of the fastest skaters I’ve ever seen,” Jack says casually.

The compliment comes out of nowhere, and it catches Bitty off guard. He ducks his head, suddenly feeling shy. “It’s all the figure skating, I guess,” he deflects. “You need to be going pretty fast to launch into a jump.”

Jack nods. “That’s a hell of an advantage in hockey, though,” he says matter-of-factly. “What made you switch?” He actually looks genuinely interested, which baffles Bitty.

Bitty sighs, shrugging again. “We had to move out of my hometown, and I couldn’t train with my coach without having to drive an hour to and from Atlanta multiple times a week. It just wasn’t worth it, you know? There was a hockey club at our local rink, though, so I joined up as soon as I heard. Honestly, I think I just needed to be on the ice.”

Jack gets this weird glint in his eye that Bitty doesn’t think he’s ever seen before. “How old were you when you started playing hockey?”

Bitty scrunches his nose, trying to remember. “Oh, around fourteen, fifteen? Why?”

Jack raises his eyebrows. “You started playing hockey at fifteen and got recruited to a D-1 NCAA team?” he says disbelievingly. “That’s really impressive, Bittle.”

Bitty feels his cheeks redden. He won’t admit it out loud, but knowing how good Jack was at hockey himself, those words mean a lot to him. “Wow, um. Thank you, sir.”

“Of course,” Jack says, giving him a smile before turning around to skate forwards.

Bitty watches Jack, the steady grace of him as he glides across the ice effortlessly, and thinks that in another life, Jack would probably be playing in the NHL right now. Bitty’s curiosity gets the best of him, and he skates forward to match Jack’s pace so that they’re side by side.

Jack turns to him, raising an eyebrow. “Yes, Bittle?”

“Why did you stop playing hockey?” Bitty blurts, before clapping his hands over his mouth. “I mean—you don’t have to answer that if you don’t want to! I was just…” he trails off lamely, staring down at his skates resolutely.

Jack chuckles. “Hey, it’s fine. Fair’s fair, eh?” He’s quiet for a moment, and Bitty waits patiently, allowing him to gather his thoughts.

Jack clears his throat. “I, um. There was a lot of pressure from a very young age, you know? I mean… Obviously, people always expected me to follow my dad into the NHL.”

Bitty nods encouragingly. “Well, you _were_ very good, sir.”

Jack smiles ruefully. “I mean, yeah, I guess, but it… it wasn’t good for me to have all the pressure looming over me like that. I mean, I loved the game, don’t get me wrong,” he says, glancing at Bitty. “I still love it, honestly. But I knew that I would never be able to escape my dad’s shadow if I went that route, and it would probably haunt me no matter what kind of player I’d turn out to be. My anxiety… I don’t know if I would have survived it.”

Bitty regrets asking immediately. He feels his stomach twist as he imagines a teenage Jack, burdened with the impossible weight of his father’s legacy. He aches for the boy that knew he’d never find happiness in the sport that he loved. “I’m so sorry, sir,” he says, meeting Jack’s eyes.

“Well, I’m not.” Jack gives him a reassuring smile. “I think it’s better this way, anyway. I get to be known as one of the best in something my dad was terrible at,” he jokes.

That coaxes a laugh out of Bitty, though he still feels Jack’s confession settle heavily in his chest. “Can’t argue with that.”

Bitty doesn’t know how long they skate for, trading half-baked chirps and stories about their short-lived competitive hockey careers, but it’s long enough for the golden afternoon light filtering through the huge windows to turn into gorgeous swirls of pinks and oranges. For a few glorious moments, Bitty is faced with the fantastic view of watching Jack skate in front of him with the sunset as his background, and _Lord_ , isn’t _that_ a sight to behold? He briefly allows himself to think that this whole thing would have been so romantic if it had been a date. With someone else, of course. Someone decidedly not his (beautiful, enigmatic, talented) boss, Jack Zimmermann.

Bitty pushes forward, overtaking Jack just for something to do so he can stop that dangerous train of thought. He chances a look back at Jack, turning around to face him with a smile, and finds Jack already staring back at him with a weird look on his face. Bitty tries to keep a neutral expression, even though it feels like Jack’s never looked at him like this before, almost like he’s trying to see through him. Almost like he can’t look away.

Jack opens his mouth to say something, but ends up closing it again when he looks up at the windows, seeming to notice the sunset for the first time. “Bittle, what time is it?” he asks.

As if on cue, all the lights in the room shut off, the windows becoming their only source of light. Bitty whips his phone out immediately, turning on the flashlight.

“I think that means it’s time to go,” Jack deadpans, making Bitty laugh.

“The lights are probably just timed to save energy, sir,” Bitty says. “I can call Murray and ask them to switch them on again.”

Jack shakes his head. “It’s fine. We’ll manage,” he says, gesturing Bitty to skate ahead.

Bitty lights the way for them towards the rental booth, where they change back into their shoes and gather their stuff, and Bitty lets himself have one last look back at the huge windows where the colors are quickly fading to black before they step out into the hallway.

Because many of the inner hallways don’t have windows, it’s much darker than either of them had anticipated. Bitty’s phone only lights the way a few feet at a time, so he leads the way, trying to remember the way out from the tour earlier. Every few feet, he glances back at Jack to check if he’s still following, but Jack seems to be falling behind.

Bitty turns around to face him, accidentally flashing the light in Jack’s face, making him wince.

“Yes, Bittle?” Jack says, shielding his face from the light.

“Oh! Sorry, sir,” Bitty says, pointing his phone at the floor. “It’s just, if you walk that far behind me, you might end up tripping or something. Would it be okay if I—” Bitty gently grabs Jack’s wrist, and starts walking again.

Jack coughs, making Bitty glance at him. He’s staring down at where Bitty is holding him. “Um.”

Suddenly realizing that he’s made things unnecessarily awkward, Bitty pulls his hand away before he starts walking again. “Sorry, we can just keep going—”

The words die on his tongue when he feels Jack reach for Bitty’s hand, holding it firmly in one hand. He grabs Bitty’s phone with the other. Bitty squeaks in surprise, looking up at Jack questioningly.

Jack frowns at him, like he’s not sure what he’s doing himself. “I just don’t want to trip,” he says finally, almost sounding defensive.

Bitty nods. “Of course,” he says, letting Jack lead the way and providing directions every few turns.

Bitty tries not to think about the feel of Jack’s hand in his, big and warm and surprisingly comfortable, instead focusing all his efforts on trying not to trip and keeping pace with Jack’s quick strides. They hold hands until they reach the lobby, until they both realize that they can see well enough from the soft light filtering through the floor-to-ceiling windows. Bitty lets go reluctantly, and it’s only because he’s staring resolutely at the floor that he catches the way Jack’s hand, the one he had just been holding, flexes, as if he’d just thrown a punch.

Jack clears his throat. “Car’s down this way,” he says gruffly, and Bitty follows him out, silently cursing himself for ruining the great mood Jack’s been in all day.

When they get to the car, Bitty stops next to the driver’s door. “I better get going,” he says, jerking his thumb towards the nearby bus stop.

Jack frowns at him. “Nonsense, Bittle. I can drop you off.”

Bitty shakes his head vehemently. “Oh, no, sir, I couldn't impose.”

Jack laughs. “This again? You’re not imposing, Bittle, I insist,” he says pointedly. “C’mon, get in.”

Bitty sighs and does what he’s told. He can’t believe he let himself be driven around by his boss all day today. For shame. He tries to think of a way he can make it up to Jack other than defaulting to baked goods (though Jack did seem to enjoy the maple apple mini pies he’d brought that morning).

To his surprise, Jack turns on the radio for the drive home, and he has it tuned in to some oldies station. Bitty snorts when Georgia On My Mind starts softly playing through the speakers. It’s oddly endearing.

“What?” Jack says, looking over at Bitty.

“Oh, nothin,” Bitty says, smothering a laugh. “I just should have known you had the music taste of an old man. It explains why you didn’t know who Beyoncé was.”

“No chirps about my music choices in my car, Bittle,” Jack chastises, but he’s smiling, so Bitty knows he’s joking.

“No, sir,” Bitty agrees, pressing his lips together and zipping his mouth shut.

They spend the rest of the car ride listening to whatever throwback song comes on the radio next, and before Bitty knows it, Jack’s pulling over in front of his apartment building. 

“Bittle,” Jack says suddenly. “Do we have an opening event for all of the facilities at Faber?”

Bitty’s confused by the seemingly random question, but shakes his head. “There’s one for all of them except the rink, sir.”

“Huh,” Jack says, contemplating this. “Tell Murray to come up with something for the rink, too.”

“Of course,” Bitty says automatically, pulling his phone out to take note. As he types, he realizes this is the perfect opportunity to make up for all his missteps today, and to cap off this chapter of his life with a bang. He clears his throat. “Let me plan it, sir.”

Jack looks surprised, but not opposed to the idea. “You?”

Bitty nods eagerly. “Yes, sir. We’re pressed for time, and the rink is clearly the project you care about the most. I'll have time, too, since Chowder's already doing so well. It makes sense for me to be the one to take care of it.”

Jack seems to study him for a moment, but the smile that eventually spreads slowly across his face is nothing short of dazzling. “Thank you, Bittle.” 

“It’s the least I can do,” Bitty insists, giving him a smile in return.

Jack finally unlocks the doors. “I meant it, Bittle. Thank you for today. I had a great time.”

Bitty’s heart stutters in his chest without his permission. That sounded suspiciously like something someone would say at the end of a date. Which this was totally not. Bitty laughs a little hysterically, but he ends up telling Jack the truth: “I did, too.”

Bitty allows himself a few more seconds to appreciate Jack’s incandescent grin before bidding him good night and stepping out of the car.

As he trudges up the stairs to his apartment, he replays the events of the day in his mind. Despite the early stress, it turned out to be one of the most enjoyable days at work in recent memory. That was largely thanks to one Jack Zimmermann, who’d gone out of his way several times during the day to make Bitty’s life easier. Jack Zimmermann, who’s been increasingly thoughtful and generous, and who’s opened up to Bitty more in the last week than he has in the past four years. His boss. Jack Zimmermann.

Bitty groans, falling starfished onto his bed. Maybe letting go of this job is going to be harder than he thought.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> “administrative assistant at an ad agency” try saying that four times quickly!
> 
> PHEW this chapter was a doozy to write, even though this is the one most heavily based off an episode of WWWSK so far!! 5k++ words of boys being awkward dumb about their repressed feelings!!! JUST ADMIT IT ALREADY, AMIRITE!!!
> 
> as always, thanks for reading ❤️ Hope you guys are staying safe and healthy! UP NEXT: TEAM BUILDING!!! NATURE!!!! A KEGSTER!!! …. MORE BAKING?????


	5. Chapter 5

Jack wakes up to incessant honking noises from right outside his house.

He groans, shoving his head under his pillow. It’s a Saturday, the one day he allows himself to sleep in a little bit, but he can’t go back to sleep, because someone decided that they wanted to make sweet, sweet music with their car horn for no other reason than to ruin his morning.

After about a minute of what now seems to be rhythmic honking suspiciously resembling the tune and tempo of ‘Hey Ya’, Jack decides he can’t take it anymore. He marches down the stairs quickly to give whoever it is a piece of his mind. He flings the door open with more force than is strictly necessary only to find—

“Shitty!” Jack is absolutely seething as he approaches the car and yanks the car door open.

“Fuckin’ finally, brah!” Shitty abruptly stops honking his horn, turning to Jack with a grin. “Get in, loser, we’re going to the beach!”

Jack stares at him in disbelief. “What the fuck?” he explodes. “Why couldn’t you just have called me like a normal person?! You’ve probably woken up the whole neighborhood!” 

Shitty snorts. “What neighborhood, Jacky? You live on a humongous private property by yourself.” He makes a sweeping motion, indicating the long, spacious driveway and the sprawling gardens that wrap around the house. “‘Sides, it’s more fun this way! I don’t get to do this with very many friends, you know.”

Jack glares daggers at him. “Shitty, you are so fucking lucky I’m still half asleep because the moment I’m fully awake, I’m going to fucking kill you.”

Shitty rolls his eyes, finally jumping out of his car. “Mhm, sure. You do that, Jackaroo.” He slings an arm around Jack when he reaches him, turning him around bodily to walk back into his house. “In the meantime, let’s get you dressed! The gang is already on their way to the Cape and we’re going to miss all the fun!”

Jack abruptly stops walking when they reach the kitchen. “No. We are not going to Cape Cod.” He shrugs Shitty off roughly.

“Why the fuck not?” Shitty protests, pouting at Jack.

Jack ignores him in favor of getting the coffee maker started.

Shitty sidles up to him, nudging his side. “Aw, c’mon, Jack-o-lantern! It’s gonna be fun!”

“No, Shits,” he says firmly. “The team building is for my team to enjoy. Anyway, I wasn’t invited. It would be incredibly rude to show up.”

Shitty makes a big show of rolling his eyes again. “Okaaaaay, but  _ I _ was invited. Lardo invited me. And now I’m inviting you!” he says, clapping his hands together. “Problem solved! I’ll tell them you’re coming.”

Jack scoffs. “They probably only invited you to be polite.”

Shitty gasps, clutching at his chest dramatically. “You wound me, buddy. That shit hurts.” He jumps up on the counter next to Jack. He waits until Jack looks up at him before he starts speaking. “They seriously won’t mind, I promise. Contrary to whatever you think, your team actually likes you, brah.” 

“I know they like me,” Jack says defensively.

“I sincerely hope you do,” Shitty says solemnly, nodding. “And also, company-owned means it’s technically your beach house. Even if they weren’t dece, which they totally are, they wouldn’t kick you out of your own house.”

Jack sighs, pulling two mugs from out of a drawer. He feels Shitty’s eyes track his movements, watching him carefully. He pours out the coffee and begrudgingly slides a mug over to Shitty, still not meeting his eyes.

Shitty waits until Jack finally takes a sip of his coffee before he pipes up again. “Bitty’ll be there,” he says, waggling his eyebrows at Jack.

Jack chokes on his coffee for no reason, sending him into a coughing fit. “Of course Bittle will be there,” he says when the coughing subsides. “He’s part of the team.”

Shitty grins widely. “It’s his last team building, you know,” he points out. “You’re never going to get this chance again, Cracker Jack.”

Jack sighs again, refusing to show Shitty how effective his last argument was. Honestly, even without developing any concrete plan, Jack feels like he’s been making real progress with trying to get Bittle to stay. Bittle seems to be really happy these days—he’d always been bubbly and pleasant, but Jack sees something new in the way Bittle talks to him now, like it’s less of a chore and more of something he really enjoys doing. Ever since he’d been assigned to the grand opening of the rink at Faber, he’d been so enthusiastic about making sure that it was going to be a successful event, constantly coming to Jack with new ideas on what they can do. Jack thinks going to Cape Cod might help his cause, after all. Though he’ll never admit it, Shitty’s probably right—this is probably going to be his last chance to bond with his team while Bittle is still a part of it. 

Jack heaves a final sigh, which causes Shitty to preemptively raise his hands in the air. “Fine, but I’m driving.”

“YES!” Shitty yells, jumping off the counter and directly onto Jack’s back. “TO THE CAPE!!!”

  
  
  


On their way to the beach house, Shitty regales Jack with tales from his last business trip to California, and he keeps dropping names and laughing at Jack when he doesn’t recognize them. It’s comfortable and fun, and he barely notices the hour and a half pass them by until he’s turning into the dirt road that leads down to the property.

The beach house is a sprawling Mediterranean-style building that sits only meters away from the cape. Jack’s only been here a couple times because he often spends most of his vacations back home in Montreal, but he likes the place because it’s peaceful and secluded, nestled in a section of the beach that isn’t very populated.

As if on cue, Oluransi and Birkholtz, clad in ridiculous matching floral shirts and neon swim shorts, come running out of the house, jumping and waving at them from afar. 

Shitty shoots Jack a knowing look. “Told you they’d want you here.”

Jack shakes his head as he pulls into the spot next to the absurdly green SUV parked out front. Shitty hops out first, running to enthusiastically greet Oluransi and Birkholtz, while Jack goes to retrieve the cooler of drinks Shitty had brought. As he approaches, Birholtz hollers, “Hey, boss! Long time, no see!”

Jack chuckles, setting the cooler down on the rocky pathway. “Missed me already, eh?” he chirps.

Birkholtz nods solemnly, winking at him. “Like a limb, sir.”

“I’ll bring that inside,” Oluransi volunteers, clapping Jack on the shoulder. “Good to have you, boss!”

“I’ll help!” Shitty says, following Oluransi into the house.

“Thank you, Oluransi,” Jack calls after them. “Good to be here.”

“Pfft, none of that, sir!” Birkholtz says, throwing an arm over Jack’s shoulders and leading him into the house. “This is strictly nickname-only territory! It’s TEAM BUILDING TIME, BABY!”

Jack shakes his head fondly. “Get off me, Holster.” He elbows him slightly, and Holster jostles him back as they walk through the back entrance.

It smells amazing when they step into the kitchen, and Jack immediately sees why—Bittle already seems to be scooping out a batch of cookies with something else (maybe more cookies?) already baking in the oven. He’s wearing a navy blue tank top that shows off the definition in his arms, and tiny pink swim shorts that Jack’s having a hard time looking away from. Seriously, they're so... bright.

Bittle’s face lights up when he turns around and sees them. “Good morning, Mr. Zimmermann! How was the drive down here?”

“Hi, Bittle,” Jack says, feeling a smile spread on his face. “It was fine.”

Bittle’s brows quirk upwards. “Fascinating! Please, don’t stop there on my account,” he teases.

“FUCK YEAH! COOKIES!!” Birk— Holster yells, abandoning Jack to give Bittle a noogie.

Bittle rolls his eyes, pushing Holster away. “No roughhousing in my kitchen,” he scolds, brandishing a wooden spoon at Holster, who backs away slowly, arms raised in surrender.

“Your kitchen?” Jack says, raising an eyebrow at Bittle when they’re finally alone.

That makes Bittle’s cheeks color deliciously. “Oh, um— _ the _ kitchen, I meant. It’s not  _ my _ kitchen, obviously, I’m just… baking… here…” he trails off lamely. 

Jack resists the urge to laugh, putting a hand on his shoulder and smiling down at him. “Bittle. I was joking.”

“Oh,” Bittle says again, smiling softly as he goes back to scooping out his cookie dough.

“Where’s Duan?” Jack says, moving across the island to sit on a stool. The house has an open floor plan and most of its walls are made of glass windows, so most of the living area is visible from the kitchen. Jack spots Olu—Ransom and Holster out by the pool with Shitty, setting up a ping pong table.

“Lardo’s out on the beach with Chowder, setting up the scavenger hunt. Dex and Nursey went with them just to look around, I think. Dex was pretty excited to get in the water.”

Jack nods. “So why are you in here all by yourself?”

Bittle clutches his imaginary pearls. “Mr. Zimmermann, you can’t expect me to have access to a kitchen this beautiful and not bake anything!”

Jack hums, looking around. The kitchen looks updated, with a large center island, shiny appliances, and pristine white cabinets, but he’s definitely seen better. “My kitchen is nicer than this,” he points out.

“Well, I don’t get to bake in your kitchen, now, do I?” Bittle says, before turning around to slide a tray of cookie dough into the oven.

“You could, if you wanted to, you know,” Jack says. “I don’t really get to use it that much, but I know my mom bought all the equipment for when they visit.”

Bittle is staring at him like he’s grown an extra head.

“What?” Jack asks, feeling self-conscious all of a sudden. 

Bittle smiles at him, shaking his head as he starts cleaning up. “You’re full of surprises, you know?” he says, looking up at Jack through his long eyelashes.

Jack shrugs again. “I contain multitudes,” he deadpans.

Bittle laughs his high, ringing laugh. “Tell you what,” he says, leaning on the counter conspiratorially. “If you promise I get to bake in your kitchen, I’ll let you lick the spoon. But don’t tell Holster!”

Jack chuckles. “You’ve got yourself a deal, Bittle.”

Bittle swipes a finger on the edge of the wooden spoon and licks at it before handing it over to him with a wink, making something in his stomach flip.

Feeling brave, he mimics Bittle, wiping some batter off the spoon and sucking on his finger lightly. Bittle holds his gaze the whole time, and somehow, it feels like something shifts between them.

The moment gets interrupted by Bittle’s phone ringing loudly. “The cookies!” Bittle remembers, turning around to pull a tray of perfectly round chocolate chip cookies out of the oven.

Like clockwork, Holster comes bounding into the room. “Did somebody say cookies?!”

Jack finishes off the rest of the batter left on the spoon and throws it into the nearest mixing bowl as casually as he can before Holster can see, making Bittle giggle.

The cookies disappear with lightning speed as soon as the rest of the team gets wind of them, and Bittle has to set some aside for Dex and Nursey, who come back into the house already soaking wet. When the cookies are gone, Lardo orders them all outside to begin the scavenger hunt.

“Well, actually, it’s less of a scavenger hunt, and more of a ribbon hunt,” Lardo appends.

Shitty snorts. “We know, Lards.”

“Shh, I’m trying to make Zimmermann feel welcome,” Lardo says, which makes Jack smile. “Anyway, you all know the rules—pair up, you’ve got half an hour, the pair that finds the most ribbons wins! Obviously I’m not playing, because I know where everything is.”

Jack looks around the loose huddle they formed on the beach to find almost everyone already paired up—Ransom and Holster are in the middle of some complicated handshake, Dex and Nursey are already talking strategy, and Shitty has clearly claimed Chowder, if the way he’s currently trying to mount his back is any indication.

Jack turns to Bittle. “Looks like it’s you and me.”

Bittle looks up at Jack, smiling. “Looks like it.”

“Alright!” Lardo calls, clapping her hands. “As always, winners will receive the grand prize courtesy of our generous and fearless leader.” She presents Jack with a bow, and the rest of the group cheers. “This year, Mr. Zimmermann has donated gift checks to any two restaurants under the Zimmermann Group of the winners’ choice!”

Jack smirks. “Since I’m here, let’s throw in an extra two-night stay at the Hideout Hotel in New York, eh?” he says, causing another round of rowdy whoops from everyone.

Lardo groans, facepalming. “Why did I volunteer to facilitate?”

“Holy shit,” Ransom says reverently. “Why don’t we invite him every year?”

Jack laughs. “Let’s do this, eh?”

Lardo claps again, getting everyone’s attention. “Well, the boss man says let’s do this. Go get those ribbons!”

  
  
  


“What’s our plan?” Jack asks Bittle, who’s walking rather leisurely along the shore. It’s a fairly cloudy day, but freckles already litter the tops of Bittle’s shoulders.

“Our plan?” Bittle whirls on him, raising his eyebrows. “You want to go find the ribbons?”

Jack raises his eyebrows back. “Don’t you?”

“I thought you wouldn’t care,” Bittle admits, shrugging.

Jack shrugs. “I don’t really care about the prize, but I do care about winning.”

Bitty laughs. “Of course you do. I’m sorry I ever doubted you.”

Jack surveys the beach quickly. Ransom and Holster are stationed in front of the house, busy flinging sand at Dex and Nursey for some reason, and Chowder is still somehow carrying Shitty on his back, heading towards the opposite stretch of sand.

“I don’t think it’s gonna be much of a competition,” Bitty observes.

Jack chuckles. “Probably not,” he agrees. “Let’s go over there while they’re still distracted?” He points towards the shorter side of the beach that curves into the sea. 

Bitty smirks. “Race you!” Without any further warning, he takes off running, kicking a splash of water onto Jack’s legs.

“You are such a cheater!” Jack calls after him, breaking into a sprint to catch up.

Bitty runs back onto the dry sand, heading towards the lifeguard post. Jack catches up to him halfway, purposely running into him before overtaking him, making Bitty laugh.

“I’ll look down here, you take up there?” Jack suggests, pointing at the beach hut.

“Sounds good, sir,” Bitty salutes, running up the stairs of the hut.

Jack checks the wooden posts of the high chair and finds nothing. He crouches down to check underneath the beach hut and spots a flash of yellow in between the slats of wood.

“Bittle, I found one!” he calls, tugging the ribbon out from where it’s been slipped and stepping out of the shade to hold it up.

Bittle pokes his head out of a window, holding out another yellow ribbon triumphantly. “Found one, too!” He runs down the stairs quickly. “C’mon, let’s go!”

Jack follows Bittle to a patch of trees next to a fenced-off property nearby, and Bittle immediately points to another ribbon tied to a high branch on one of the trees. “There!”

Jack jumps to grab at it, but it’s up too high. “How did Lardo get that up there? It’s too flimsy to climb.”

“You know, I’ve learned not to question her ways,” Bittle says from behind Jack, staring up at the ribbon, too.

Jack looks around for something to poke at it with, when he thinks of something else. “Bittle, come here for a second,” he says motioning him over.

Bittle approaches slowly and tenses as Jack steps in close and bends his knees. “Um. What are you doing.”

“Carrying you.” Jack gets his arms around Bittle’s waist and looks up at him. “Ready?”

Bittle looks surprised for a second but nods along, yelping a little when Jack hoists him up. Jack watches as Bittle stretches up to reach for the ribbon, but his fingers barely graze it. He sighs, setting Bittle back down on the sand.

Bittle immediately starts rattling off ideas as he studies the elusive ribbon. “Hmm, maybe we can go back and find a ladder somewhere? Though this is pretty far to walk carrying a ladder just to get a silly—Mr. Zimmermann, why are you kneeling on the sand, the ribbon is up—oh mY GOD, JACK LAURENT ZIMMERMANN!”

Jack grins as he stands to full height, carefully balancing Bittle where he’s perched on his shoulders. “Okay up there, Bittle?”

Bittle tries to adjust how he’s sitting, almost falling backwards. Jack grabs a hold of his knees to steady him, and Bittle finally finds his balance, resting his hands on Jack’s head. “I would have appreciated a warning of any kind, thank you very much!”

“Uh.” Jack huffs a laugh, craning his head to look up. “Can you reach it yet?”

“Oh! Right, sorry!” Bittle says, reaching for the ribbon. He easily unties it, cheering as it falls away from the branch.

Jack grins, slowly lowering himself to the ground to let Bittle hop off. Bittle dusts himself off and turns around a little too quickly, bumping into Jack’s chest.

“Oh, sorry, I didn’t—” Bittle stops abruptly, staring up at Jack’s face. 

“What?” Jack frowns down at Bittle, suddenly realizing how close they’re standing. There’s really no reason they should be standing so close, but Jack’s having a hard time stepping away.

Bittle’s smile is like an inside joke, reaching up to brush his fingers over Jack’s cheek. “I think I got some sand on your face, from my leg,” he says, his hand lingering on Jack’s face.

Jack feels warmth blooming in his cheeks and ducks his head shyly. “Oh, uh, thanks, Bittle.”

Bittle finally steps back, grinning. “Any time, sir.”

Jack also takes a step back, if just to get his chest to calm down. “Uh, how many ribbons did Lardo hide?” he asks, looking around at the other trees.

Bitty wrinkles his nose, thinking. “I’m not sure. It’s usually around ten?”

“Huh.” Jack walks deeper into the patch of trees. “Do you think—” He turns to look at Bittle, who’s staring up at the sky, holding a palm out. “What are you doing ?”

“I think it’s going to rain,” Bittle says, frowning. “Maybe we should—”

He’s interrupted by loud cracking noise from the sky and a flash of bright light before it starts pouring overhead.

“Oh, shit,” Bittle hisses, using a hand to shield his eyes from the rain.

“Fuck.” Jack chances a look up at the sky to find that it’s suddenly gotten really dark. “C’mon, let’s go, Bittle,” he says, grabbing Bittle’s arm and pulling him out to the beach. Bittle gets with the program quickly, slipping his hand into Jack’s, and they start to run back towards the house together. 

Another loud crack echoes throughout the beach and the rain starts coming down harder. Jack feels a sudden resistance in his arm, and turns to find Bittle trying to pull him towards the beach hut by the lifeguard post.

“Bittle, the house is that way!” Jack shouts, pointing down the beach.

Bittle shakes his head, not letting up. “It’s too far to run in this rain, you’ll get sick! We have to wait it out!”

Jack wants to argue, but realizes that Bittle’s probably right. He lets Bittle pull him to the hut, up the stairs and into the shade at last.

Bittle immediately slumps down to sit against the door, scooting as far into the shade as possible. Jack takes a moment to look at him, with his hair matted to his forehead, his tank top sticking to the strong lines of his torso, and his legs covered in wet sand up to the knee—lightyears away from the impeccably groomed, professional Bittle he’s used to. He can’t help the hysterical laughter that bubbles up from his chest and out because of how ridiculous it all is.

Bittle starts cracking up with him, running both hands through his hair before looking up at Jack. “What are you doing all the way over there? C’mon, sit,” he says, patting the floor next to him.

Jack lowers himself down to sit next to Bittle, still laughing. “Does this happen every year, too?”

Bitty shakes his head, grinning. “First time.”

“I wonder what the others are doing,” Jack says, pivoting slightly to peer through the wooden railings.

“Probably being idiots,” Bittle supplies, shaking his head fondly. “If they call in sick on Monday, at least you’ll know why.”

Jack laughs. “You’ll have to carry the whole load, then,” he points out.

“Not if I call in sick too,” Bittle threatens, raising a challenging eyebrow at Jack. “And then where will you be?”

“Well, I would’ve also called in sick, if only  _ someone _ had let me run back to the house.”

Bittle squawks indignantly. “How dare you! I was only looking out for you!”

“Excuses, excuses,” Jack dismisses, looking out at the water. 

Bittle laughs, shaking his hair out again. “How long do you think we’re stuck here?”

Jack turns to him. “Sick of me already?” he teases.

“Nope, never,” Bittle says immediately. He shakes his head, sending droplets of water flying onto Jack.

Jack chuckles to cover up the sudden tightness he feels in his chest. “Good to know.”

They sit quietly for a few moments, both watching the waves slap harshly on the shore.

“You know my resignation has nothing to do with you, right?” Bittle says suddenly, turning to Jack with a serious look. “It’s important to me that you know that.”

Bittle’s admission slightly loosens something in Jack’s chest. “I mean, I had certainly hoped so,” he says.

“Okay.” Bittle takes a deep breath. “Okay, that’s good,” he says. “Mr. Zimmermann—”

“Jack.”

“What?” Bittle frowns at him, confused.

“Call me Jack. Please.” Jack gives Bittle a nervous smile. “It’s been getting a little weird for you to still be so formal with me when… well, we’ve been becoming friends, haven’t we?”

Bittle’s answering smile is nothing short of radiant. “Okay. Jack,” he says, like he’s trying it out. “I was just going to say that I’m really glad you came with Shitty today.”

Jack cocks his head towards the water. “Even if I brought all this gloomy weather with me?”

“Oh, you shush,” Bittle says, nudging him with an exasperated smile. “You deserve a break sometimes, too, you know?”

As he watches the rain come down in sheets, Jack thinks about how he almost let Shitty drive down alone this morning. “I’m glad I came, too,” he admits, and means it.

  
  
  


It takes several more minutes for the rain to die down, and when Jack and Bittle emerge from the beach hut and finally get back to house dripping wet, they find the rest of the crew huddled around a huge spread of seafood that Dex had apparently whipped up. They immediately present their three ribbons to Lardo, who looked less than pleased to announce Ransom and Holster as the winners of the ribbon hunt with a total of four ribbons to their names. Jack can’t find it in himself to be upset that they lost at all.

After thanking Dex for the surprisingly delicious lunch (“I grew up in Maine, sir, of course I know how to cook my seafood!”), Jack makes the mistake of asking what’s next on the agenda.

Everyone turns to stare at him, the lighthearted atmosphere suddenly turning tense.

It’s Nursey who breaks first, snorting. “Nothing’s next. You knew ‘team building’ was just our sorry excuse to get to use this ‘swawesome house every year, right?”

The team looks from Nursey to Jack, waiting for his reaction.

Jack just laughs. “Oh, come on, guys. Of course I knew,” he says. “I don’t mind. I just thought you guys might have other activities planned.”

“Oh-ho-ho, we do have plans, Zimmermann,” Shitty says, leaping up from his seat.

“Plans to get SCHWASTED!” Ransom and Holster yell simultaneously, launching into a very enthusiastic high-five.

With the clouds finally clearing, they spend the rest of the day out in the sun, shotgunning beers and engaging in various sports. Jack gets involved in a game of pool volleyball with Chowder, Ransom, and Holster, until Holster kicks him out for being too good and exiles him to sit poolside with Lardo instead, which isn’t really much of a punishment if it means he gets to openly watch Bittle play in his place. Bittle is all long lines and quiet power, his flush from the sun extending all the way down to his toned chest, graceful athleticism on full display. 

“Mind if I sit here?” Jack says, settling into the chaise next to her.

Lardo peers at him over her. “It’s your house, Zimmermann,” she says drily.

Jack laughs, pulling his own sunglasses down onto his face. They sit in comfortable silence, watching as Bittle and Chowder try to keep the rally going as long as possible. They eventually score a point, much to the incredibly loud chagrin of his communication officers.

“So,” Lardo says, just as Bittle delivers an excellent serve. “Bitty’s resigning next month.” She turns on her side to look at him. “How’re you holding up?”

Jack considers this. “Chowder’s been really great so far,” he says.

Lardo hums. “Not what I asked, but sure.”

Jack sighs deeply, running a hand through his hair. “I don’t know,” he admits. “I’ve been trying to get him to stay—as I’m sure you know,” he adds, which makes Lardo snort.

“Understatement, but continue.”

Jack huffs a laugh, a little embarrassed, though he knows he hasn’t exactly been subtle. He momentarily wonders what it is about this house that is making him want to open up so much today. “I’m just… I guess I’m just worried? I can’t imagine what it’ll be like without him.”

Lardo sits up properly and studies him, pushing her sunglasses up to rest on her head. Jack feels her stare like it pierces through him. Eventually, she lays back down and slides her sunglasses back on. “Honestly? I don't think there’s anything you can do to get him to stay,” she says, “but I have a feeling you won’t be missing him much after he quits.”

Jack can’t help but look out to where Bittle is situated in the corner of the pool, only to find him already staring back at him. Their eyes meet for a split second before Bittle’s gaze snaps away, almost like he’s been caught. He frowns at Lardo’s words, wondering what she could mean, but too afraid to find out for himself. 

  
  
  


The rest of the night passes in a blur. Jack gets handed a bottle of beer, which he carries with him until the beer becomes too warm to even occasionally sip, but he goes around and tries to socialize as much as he can. He has a long discussion with Ransom about golf, of all things, until Chowder joins in and the conversation turns to hockey, which ends up in a heated debate about who’s going to win the Cup that year. (Chowder is a staunch supporter of the Sharks, but Ransom’s willing to place all bets on Mashkov and the Falconers.) Shitty eventually lures him into a game of beer pong, during which Lardo smokes them both in an impressive number of rounds, and at that point, Jack is just pleasantly buzzed enough to say yes to a quick game of chicken, Shitty on his shoulders against Holster and Dex.

It’s almost midnight when Jack realizes he hasn’t seen Bittle in a while, and he mutters a half-baked excuse about needing to use the bathroom before slipping into the house to look for him. He finds Bittle, predictably, in the kitchen, pulling ingredients out from the cupboards.

“Jack!” Bittle exclaims. “What’re you doin’ in here? All the refreshments are outside by the cooler.”

Jack leans on the counter, surveying the ingredients laid out in front of him. “I could ask you the same question.”

“We’ve already had this conversation, remember?” Bittle says, rolling his eyes.

Jack laughs. “What are you making this time?”

“Good ol’ apple pie,” Bittle says, pulling some butter out of the fridge. He eyes him thoughtfully. “If you’re planning on staying, you might as well come and help me.”

Jack hesitates. “I’ve never really baked anything before,” he admits sheepishly.

“Well then, you’re lucky you have me, now, aren’t cha?” Bittle says, pushing a bag of apples towards him. “You can start by peeling those.” He pauses, giving Jack a quick once-over, which for some reason, makes his cheeks turn pink. “Actually, maybe start by putting a shirt on first.”

“Oh,” Jack says, realizing he’d walked completely shirtless and still wet from the pool. “Sorry, I’ll go get—” He rushes to the bedroom where he’d dropped his duffle earlier and roots around for a t-shirt, throwing it on quickly and returning to the kitchen. “Better?” he says, approaching the counter.

“Much,” Bittle confirms with a smile, handing him a vegetable peeler.

Bittle walks him through the rest of the recipe, and Jack obediently measures out whatever Bittle dictates to him, but he refuses to do anything with the dough, opting to watch Bittle from his stool. It’s refreshing to see Bittle in his element—no matter how much of a natural Bittle was at work, Jack’s never seen him quite like this, like he’s completely at home. Like he’s always meant to be rolling out pie crusts and making kitchens smell heavenly. 

“Have I ever told you why I hired you?” Jack asks, stealing a slice of apple from a nearby bowl.

Bittle looks up at him curiously. “Was it because of my baking?” he jokes.

Jack grins. “Something like that. Do you remember how you brought something every interview, and I always refused to eat it?”

That makes Bittle laugh. “Oh lord. You were such a stickler for your diet back then.”

Jack chuckles with him, shaking his head at his past self. “You were so determined to find something that I was going to eat. That’s when I knew you were the kind of person who wouldn’t quit just because things got hard.” He snags another apple slice, just to tease Bittle. “Then you made me a PB&J pie after reading an article about my pregame in the Q, and the rest is history, eh?”

Bittle swats at him, pulling the bowl of apples away. “I still remember how you told me that I should stop baking sweets and start eating more protein,” he says, shaking his head. “And now here you are, licking my spoons and stealing my apples.”

“What can I say? I’m a convert,” Jack says, shrugging. “You’re an excellent baker, Bittle.”

Bittle’s cheeks turn a lovely shade of pink. “Why, thank you, Mr. Zimmermann,” he says shyly. Bittle rolls his dough onto the rolling pin and begins draping it over the pie dish. He seems conflicted for a moment before his expression clears up. “Oh, to hell with it. Jack, I need to tell you something.”

Jack frowns at his suddenly serious tone. “What is it?”

Bittle fiddles with the rolling pin before looking up at Jack. “I’m going to open up my own bakery,” he says quickly, his words tumbling out all at once.

Jack releases a breath he didn’t know he’d been holding. He feels a rush of pride and a swell of relief in his chest at Bittle’s words. All this time, he’d been so convinced that he at least had a vague idea about the reason why Bittle wanted to quit, when it turned out to be nothing he’d ever expected. In retrospect, Jack thinks he really should have known. "Bittle, that’s incredible! You should have told me sooner! That’s why you want to resign?”

Bittle worries at his lip as he nods, still looking nervous for some reason. “I was worried to tell you because technically then I’ll be a competitor, and then you might think that I wasn’t serious about my job all this time.”

Jack shakes his head resolutely. “Of course not. That’s—wow,” he says, meeting Bittle’s eyes. “I’m proud of you, Bittle. Let me know if you ever need any help.”

Bittle smiles at him then, a soft and fragile little thing. “Thank you, Jack. That—that really means a lot to me.”

“Of course,” Jack says, meaning it. “It’s the least I can do.”

After Bittle dumps the apple mixture into the dish, he puts Jack back to work, insisting that he needs help on the lattice. Bittle is ever patient, showing him the pattern to weave, but Jack fumbles with the thin strips of dough, his clumsy fingers unused to such delicate work.

Bittle asks him a question about the acquisition that they’ve been working on recently, but Jack barely registers it, frowning at the pie in concentration. “Bittle, I’m messing up your pie. Look at it, it’s awful…” he says, gingerly lifting a strip of dough.

“Stop it, I’m sure it’s great! Lemme see,” Bittle says, turning around with a bag of flour clutched to his chest.

Jack turns to show him the pie in the same moment, and they end up bumping into each other softly. “Oh, sorry—”

“Jack Zimmermann, there is no checking in my kitchen!” Bittle scolds teasingly.

“Your kitchen?” Jack gives him a quizzical look.

“ _ The _ kitchen,” Bittle corrects. “Now move your big—um—”

Jack raises an eyebrow to mess with him. “My big…?”

Bittle huffs, flicking a handful of flour onto Jack’s face, making him sputter. “I was asking about your precious acquisition, Mr. Zimmermann,” he says as he turns to put the flour back where it belongs.

“Oh, right,” Jack says, laughing softly as he tries to brush flour out of his eyes. He sets the pie down by the sink and fiddles with a few errant strips. “Well, I was talking to their other investors yesterday, and they still seem a little skeptical about it, but the majority owner seems to be on board, so that’s a good sign. And you know, I was talking to my dad about it, and he was saying they’ve really got a huge market up in Canada, so it seems like the right move.”

Jack realizes he’s been talking for a while without Bittle’s input, and he looks over to find Bittle staring at him with a weird expression, eyes wide and lips slightly parted. “Bittle? What’s wrong? If there’s anything on my face, you put it there,” he says, looking down at himself self-consciously.

Bittle shakes his head, seeming to snap out of it. “What—oh, no, I was just… Um, let’s finish that lattice now, shall we?” he says, reaching over to take charge of the pie.

Jack watches in quiet awe as Bittle’s deft fingers quickly and methodically weave the pieces of dough, miraculously saving the disaster that Jack had been working on, and before he knows it, the pie’s already in the oven and a timer has been set.

“Well,” Bittle says, dusting his hands off and turning to Jack with a tight smile. “Thanks for your help, Jack! But actually, I just remembered Lardo asked me to help her with something so I’m gonna go look for her! Call me when the timer beeps, will you?”

“Wait, what? Bittle—” Jack frowns at Bittle’s fleeing figure, wondering what the hell just happened. He’s just starting to think about following after him when Shitty bursts into the kitchen, looking uncharacteristically sober and slightly panicked.

“There you are,” he groans, clapping Jack on the shoulder. “I’ve been looking all over for you! Do you have your phone?”

“No, why, what’s happening?” Jack says, bewildered.

“Marty just called. The French coffee brand we secured the rights to? Lax Co. just approached them with an offer,” Shitty informs him. “Fucking assbags,” he mutters under his breath.

Jack frowns at him. “What? They signed a contract with us, what are you talking about? If they break it, their products come off our shelves in the US and Canada. There’s no way they would risk that.”

Shitty shakes his head. “I just checked with my team, and their sales are incredible. If we don’t play this right, we might actually be the losers here, Jacky.” 

Jack’s expression hardens. “You have a loss estimation?”

Shitty nods. “On my laptop,” he says, leading Jack into the living room.

After running the numbers and consulting with Marty, they decide that the best plan of action would be an in-person meeting to clarify the terms of the contract and lock in the rights.

“Wait,” Shitty says, looking up at Jack. “That means we’ll need to go to France?”

Jack nods, sighing. “Looks like it. Marty’s already booked us a flight for tomorrow morning.”

Shittty moans. “But team building!” he whines.

“I know, buddy,” Jack says, running a hand through his hair. He doesn’t want to leave at all either, especially not after that weird moment with Bittle earlier that still nags at him. “We still need to go, though.”

Shitty scrubs a hand over his face in frustration. “What time’s the flight?”

Jack checks his email. “9 AM. Fuck.” It’s already two in the morning.

Shitty lets out a loud wail. “Fuck, man. We really gotta go.”

Ransom and Holster walk in from outside. “What’s going on?” Ransom asks.

“Emergency business trip to France,” Shitty says dejectedly. “We need to go, like, yesterday.”

“Shit. That blows, man.” Holster holds out a fist in solidarity, which Shitty bumps softly. “What do you need?”

Jack turns around to look at him. “Where’s Bittle?”

Ransom and Holster share a look. “I think I saw him go out for a walk with Lardo. It’s been a minute, though. I don’t think they’re back yet,” Ransom says.

“Does he have his phone on him?” Jack says, suddenly desperate.

Ransom shakes his head. “Didn’t look like it.”

“Fuck,” Jack says suddenly, standing up from the couch. “I forgot about the pie.”

Ransom stops him, looking concerned. “We’ll take care of it, boss. You guys need to get out of here if you wanna catch a few hours of sleep.”

Jack really doesn’t want to leave without seeing Bittle first, but it’s looking like he doesn’t really have a choice. He’d had a wonderful day, and he was really looking forward to spending the rest of the weekend with Bittle and the team. He sighs deeply, tugging at the roots of his hair.

Shitty comes up to squeeze his shoulder. “C’mon, brah. I’ll drive,” he volunteers. Jack smiles at him gratefully. 

When they’re in the car, Jack decides to shoot Bittle a message, explaining the situation. 

_ I’m sorry I had to go. I tried to look for you, but R&H said you were on the beach with Lardo. There are a few things I need you to look up for me, but it can wait until tomorrow morning. _

His phone buzzes with a reply after only a few seconds.

_ Don’t worry about it, sir. Thank you for remembering the pie. _

Jack huffs a laugh. Of course Bittle’s thinking about the pie. He’s about to chirp him about it when his phone buzzes again.

_ Tell me what you need. Whatever it is, I’ll take care of it :) _

Jacks feels his chest warm at Bittle’s message, feeling the sincerity of it from miles away. He taps out a reply without thinking, but his thumb hovers over the send button as he reads it again.

_ I need you to stay _

Seeing the words typed out so plainly overwhelms him in a way that he’s not quite ready to face. He stares at the blinking cursor much longer than necessary before hitting delete.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> PHEW these chapters just keep getting longer, huh?? also, is it really any kind of fanfic if a main character doesn’t release a breath he didn’t know he was holding??? what does that even mean????
> 
> ALSO: i have never been to Cape Cod and I did very minimal research aka googling “cape cod beach” “cape cod woods” “cape cod mansion” before figuring what the hell and just doing whatever I wanted HAHAHA SORRY
> 
> if anyone was wondering, Nursey and Dex are part-time stakeholder relations officers, they report to Lardo. R&H, communication officers, report to Bitty and also to Lardo.
> 
> thank you again for reading!! your reward is: these boys are finally starting to get a little bit less dumb!! THANK GOODNESS!!
> 
> UP NEXT: real (conscious, not oblivious anymore) pining!! earth-shattering realizations!!! BAD BOB!!! CLOSETS????


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i have literally never written anything this quickly before. it feels like i wrote this entire chapter in a fever dream LMFAO anyway enjoy!!! this may never happen again!!!

As it happens, Bitty’s realization that he’s somehow fallen deeply in love with his boss hits him at a very opportune time.

Honestly, he really should have known better than to tempt fate—asking an incredibly hot, sweet, thoughtful man to bake an apple pie with him with him? Bitty had set himself up to lose there. That one was probably his bad. He had always admired Jack, as a businessman, as a person, and, well… physically, obviously, but he’d never entertained the fact that his admiration could evolve into something else, something deeper, because he didn’t want to risk losing his job. Apparently, baking with Jack was just the straw that finally broke the camel’s back.

But Bitty also couldn’t help but blame Jack a little bit for making him fall in love with him. Ever since the art center, Jack had been constantly seeking him out, asking for his opinion on things and buying him things and just… making Bitty feel important. And then at the team building… Bitty’s mature enough to admit that there had been several moments that almost felt like they were flirting. Almost. But then again, that was probably only because he may have been secretly hoping that Jack was flirting instead of just plain chirping him. Either way, the events of the weekend managed to ignite a traitorous spark of hope in his chest.

Of course, because Bitty’s not a sadist, he tries to convince himself that all of that—the hand-holding and the carrying him on his shoulders and the bumping into each other and the “please call me Jack” and the infuriatingly sincere words about his baking—all of _that_ has just been Jack finally learning how to show affection, or maybe trying to overcompensate for the last four years of a strictly professional relationship when they’re finally finding out that they can be friends outside of work. There’s no use in putting meaning in something that doesn’t mean anything. That would only be setting himself up for disappointment.

In any case, baking an apple pie with your completely perfect and unattainable boss during team building is as good a time as any to realize you’re in love with him because, as luck would have it, said completely perfect and unattainable boss suddenly needed to fly to France at a moment’s notice for an emergency business trip, so this way, you don’t even really need to exert any effort to avoid him for the next few days.

Well, okay—it’s not like Bitty can actually avoid his boss. He’s an assistant, after all; he spent the rest of the weekend feeding Jack the market research he’d asked for like he’d promised (thank God he’d brought his laptop to team building), and now that the work week has actually begun, he has to constantly provide updates on how things are going in the office and forward business plans and sales reports and meeting minutes, and that’s not even counting the new project he’s taking on planning the opening for the rink at Faber. No, there’s no way he can just stop talking to Jack.

…Or is there? 

On Monday morning, Chowder walks into the office bearing a huge smile and a paper bag. “Hi, Bitty! Have you had breakfast? I dropped by Annie’s and got you a bagel!”

Bitty grins at him. “Chowder, my sweet angel, your timing couldn’t be any more perfect.” He had always been incredibly grateful for Chowder, but probably never more than he was at that moment. 

Maybe it’s selfish, but at least it serves a dual purpose: he hands everything Jack-related to Chowder, passing on all the important documents and updates to him so he can relay them all to Jack himself, and just for good measure, he starts training Chowder twice as hard, giving him all the files he’s accumulated throughout the years and clueing him in on important people, Jack’s preferences, Jack’s allergies, Jack’s social life. Chowder seemed surprised by Bitty’s sudden insistence, but he’d thankfully gone along with it, even taking notes and asking questions. By the end of the day, he’d pronounced Chowder a bonafide expert on Jack Zimmermann, which Chowder seemed absolutely ecstatic about.

“Wow, Bitty, I didn’t realize how well you knew Jack!” Chowder gushes as they both pack up for the day. “You guys must be really close, huh?”

Bitty snorts. “What makes you say that?”

Chowder gives him a weird look. “Your lists are, like, super detailed! How did you know he has a weird thing about hating zip ties? That seems like a really specific thing.”

“There was an incident when he was a kid,” Bitty explains, remembering the day he found out about it. “One time, we were at a meeting with clients and all the cords in the room were organized with zip ties. He ended up distracted the whole time and I had to find a sneaky way to get rid of them just so we could close the deal.”

“What about this?” Chowder pulls up a spreadsheet on his phone. “It’s just a list of random baked goods, and then the column next to it is just numbers.”

Bitty flushes. “Oh, those are just—things that I baked for him over the years and how much he liked them.”

“How did you know how much he liked them, though?” Chowder asks, fascinated. “He’s got an excellent poker face.”

“I know, right?” Bitty laughs. “But I guess when you spend so much time with him, you’ll get to notice the difference between his ‘mildly impressed’ frown and his ‘this is the best thing I’ve ever tasted’ frown. Trust.”

Chowder gives him a toothy smile. “That is so cool!” 

Okay. So maybe Bitty’s in way deeper than he thought. But whatever, right? It’s Chowder’s problem now.

Even with Jack away and Chowder taking care of most of the actual assistant stuff, he’s still left with plenty to do. On Tuesday, he spends the morning at the Dunkin Donuts Center and meets with Tom Simmons, the General Manager of the Providence Falconers, to discuss possible arrangements for the opening event of the Faber Memorial Skating Rink. He’d been corresponding back and forth with him since the week before, and he was immediately accommodating, which Bitty attributed to the fact that he’d name-dropped Bad Bob Zimmermann several times in his first email. Simmons tours him around the office, inviting him down to the locker room to meet several of the players, including Dustin Snow, their starting goalie, before they talk about what kind of activities they could do for the grand opening.

Jack lingers in the back of Bitty’s mind the entire time: how, in another life, it would have been huge printouts of Jack’s face plastered on the walls of the arena, Jack’s name and number sewn onto the backs of the jerseys at the gift shop, Jack, sweaty and disheveled in the locker room after a hard practice… Bitty has to literally shake his head to break away from that train of thought.

In truth, he just wants to make this entire thing perfect for Jack, as a final gift, a thank you for the past four years, and maybe as a manifestation of all the feelings he could never properly verbalize. Bitty doesn’t have much to offer Jack—literally, because what do you give to the man who has everything?—but he can definitely give him this. After that day at Faber, Bitty couldn’t stop thinking about how happy Jack looked on the ice. He would give an arm and a leg just to see him smile like that again.

They eventually settle on a one-day hockey camp for young children, at which the Falconers’ star players will be present to coach and play with the kids. Bitty suggests making it the beginning of a long-term partnership between the company and the team, offering the rink as a venue for a hockey program that the Falcs can host, which Simmons loved and said he’d look into. Bitty emerges from the arena in the early afternoon with three less pies than when he came, but with the notable addition of a signed contract and a new checklist of logistical matters he has to look into before the big day.

Bitty manages almost two whole days of avoiding Jack, which is the longest he’s gone without talking to him in over four years, except when he gets back to the office later that day, his phone starts ringing loudly. His phone, which now has a staggering ten (10) unopened text messages from Jack “What Is An Emoji Bittle” Zimmermann.

His phone starts ringing loudly, because Jack Zimmermann is calling him.

Jack is calling him. All the panic sirens go off in Bitty’s brain, and his first instinct is to drop the call. But then that would make Jack think that something was wrong, and then he’d probably just call again. Bitty groans, picking up his phone gingerly and swiping to answer.

“Mr. Zimmermann! How is Paris?” he says, forcing his usual cheerful tone.

“Is everything okay, Bittle?” Jack asks, sounding concerned. His accent is much stronger than it usually is, and it’s that observation that makes Bitty’s traitorous brain realize that he’s actually missed hearing it.

“What, um, why—why wouldn’t it be?” Bitty asks, trying for casual.

“I… Well, I haven’t heard from you in two days,” Jack says plainly, though Bitty hears it as an accusation.

Bitty’s laugh sounds fake even to his own ears. “Oh, I’ve been letting Chowder do more work so he can practice! He’s been doing a great job, wouldn’t you say so?”

“Oh,” Jack says. “Yeah, he’s great, but I…” he trails off, and Bitty waits patiently as Jack formulates his thoughts. “How are you, Bittle?”

The question catches Bitty completely off-guard. “Oh, I’m fine, Mr. Zimmermann!” he says. “Just dandy!” _Just dandy_ , Bitty mouths to himself. _Who even says that!_

Jack huffs quietly, and Bitty can just imagine the way his eyebrows are probably furrowing. “Okay, then I guess I should ask… are _we_ okay?”

“HAHA!” Bitty laughs a little hysterically before he moves the phone away from his face to take a deep breath away. His heart is hammering so loudly in his chest, he legitimately fears Jack can hear it over the phone. “What do you mean, sir? Why wouldn’t we be okay?”

“It’s just… I don’t know, it felt like maybe you were avoiding me? After team building, I thought we were…” Jack trails off, sounding unsure.

The earnestness in Jack’s voice feels like a punch to Bitty’s gut. “Oh God, I’m so sorry, sir, I wasn’t—I didn’t mean to worry or upset you—”

“No, no, it’s fine, I just—” Jack breaks off and sighs. “I think I just needed to make sure you were okay. I’m… It’s. Weird. Not having you here,” he says softly. It almost sounds like a confession.

Bitty feels the blood rush to his cheeks. “Oh, um.”

“I guess I better get used to it, huh?” Jack chuckles sadly.

“W-what?” Bitty clutches desperately at his phone with both hands. 

“I mean, you’re leaving soon. I shouldn’t be relying on you so much anymore.”

“Oh.” For some reason, Bitty gets a sinking feeling in his stomach at the reminder. “Right.”

A thick silence falls between them, and Bitty feels the need to fill it with mindless chatter, but then Jack clears his throat. “Well, um. If we’re fine, I guess I should, um. I have a meeting in a few minutes.”

“Okay,” Bitty says, unable to come up with anything else to say.

“So, um,” Jack says. “I’ll see you tomorrow?”

“Tomorrow,” Bitty repeats pathetically. Jack flies back to Providence tomorrow.

Fuck. He’s so totally, completely fucked.

  
  
  


When Jack gets back to Providence, it feels like he’s been away for longer than just three days.

He’s exhausted, for one thing; between the jetlag and the non-stop meetings, he’s barely gotten enough sleep. He’d been fuelled by coffee and the sheer determination not to lose out to their biggest rival, and it was just enough to secure the partnership they’d flown out to pursue. The three days passed in a blur—he’d barely been able to see the city except for some important errands—and before he knew it, he was on a plane back home.

If he knew anything from the updates Chowder has been sending him, the office seemed to be operating just fine in his absence, with no major problems arising while he and Shitty were away. In fact, there’s been a lot of activity; Thirdy, their Chief of R&D had just requested a meeting to discuss new trends they’d discovered in the market, and the marketing team has finally come up with a way to reposition one of their older brands. Jack knew that he had a lot of catching up to do.

The biggest change—the most noticeable, in Jack’s eyes, at least—is that when he walks into his kitchen on Wednesday morning, he’s greeted by a smiling, slightly nervous-looking Chowder. He tries his damnedest to act normal and ask Chowder the same questions he’d ask Bittle every morning, and Chowder delivers, answering every question with the professionalism of a seasoned pro. It takes a surprising amount of effort not to show Chowder how disappointed he is that it’s not Bittle sitting across him at breakfast.

Later, they get to office, and Bittle’s not there either. It’s at this point that Jack finally breaks. He stops short, turning to Chowder. “Chowder, where’s Bittle?”

Chowder clears his throat. “Oh, he didn’t tell you? He called in sick today! Said he wasn’t feeling well, poor Bitty,” he says, frowning.

Jack feels his stomach drop. “Oh.”

He spends the rest of the day in weird daze, barely listening in during meetings and even accidentally dozing off in his office in the afternoon. He chalks it up to how tired he is, but he can also admit to himself that this whole Bittle thing has him uncharacteristically distracted. They’d had a stilted conversation over the phone yesterday, which nagged at Jack the whole night. He was afraid that he’d done something wrong to make Bittle want to avoid him, and that it was going to undo all the progress he’d made with trying to convince him to stay. The day had given him a glimpse into what it would be like when Bittle actually does resign, and Jack can’t shake the feeling that there’s _something_ really important missing from his life that only Bittle can fill.

When he gets home, he navigates through the house on autopilot, taking a quick shower and changing into something more comfortable. He ends up staring at the bookshelf opposite his bed for an inordinate amount of time, and he’s only interrupted by his phone suddenly buzzing to life on his bedside table.

“Papa,” he says, once the video call connects.

“Jack, _mon fils_! I’ve been trying to get hold of you all day,” Bad Bob Zimmermann says, his beaming pixelated face taking up most of his phone screen. “How was Paris?”

Jack sighs. “It was good. They finally signed on, thankfully. It seemed like they were really only considering Lax to get us to modify some clauses in their favor,” he says. 

His dad laughs. “Of course they were! It worked out for them, didn’t it?”

Jack runs a hand through his hair, sighing again. “I guess.”

Bob nods, giving Jack a gentle smile. “Anyway, your mother just wanted me to check in with you. You’re doing okay? How’s that other acquisition going?”

Jack zones out, remembering how he’d talked to Bitty about that acquisition when they were baking at team building. He wonders if maybe that’s what’s turned Bittle away? But he was the one who asked about it and it wouldn’t make sense for him to be upset— 

“Jack? Jack. Jack Laurent,” his dad is saying, and fuck, he’s just missed a whole block of the conversation.

“Sorry, um, what were you saying?”

“I was saying,” Bob raises both eyebrows at him, “that you seem a little distracted. What’s going on?”

Jack scrubs a hand over his face in frustration. “I’m just—Bittle’s been avoiding me.”

“What?” Bob looks very surprised. “Why, did something happen?”

“I don’t know, I—” Jack suddenly feels panic rising in his chest. “He wants to resign and I’ve been trying to get him to stay, and I can’t—Papa, I can’t lose him.”

Bob frowns at him. “Why not?” he asks.

Jack’s immediate thought is this: _Because I think I love him_.

And then he thinks: _Oh._

“Jack? Are you okay?”

Jack makes a pained noise in the back of his throat. “Papa, I gotta go.”

“So go,” his dad says, a knowing smile spreading on his face. “Go to him, Jack. You know what your uncle always says—you miss a hundred percent of the shots you don’t take.”

Jack doesn’t need to be told twice.

  
  


When he arrives at Bittle’s apartment, almost an hour later, he’s armed with a canister of chicken noodle soup that he cooked from scratch after pestering his mom about the recipe, and the box of macarons he’d impulsively bought when he was thinking about Bittle in Paris. He’s scared out of his mind about how Bittle will react, but it’s easily overruled by a consuming need to see Bittle as soon as humanly possible.

It takes a few minutes for Bittle—Bitty—to come to the door, and when he does, his hair is mussed, like he’d just gotten out of bed, wearing a large red hoodie that falls all the way to his mid-thigh, and Jack helplessly thinks he’s never seen anything more beautiful in his life. Bitty’s eyes widen as he takes Jack in.

“Jack! I—What are you doing here?” he says, a panicked expression in his eyes.

“Bitty,” is all Jack can say, stepping forward to be closer to him.

Bitty takes a step back into the apartment. “You should’ve called—oh, God, I look like a mess, I wasn’t—”

“Bitty.” Jack takes another step, clearing the doorway and closing the space between them until their faces are only inches apart.

Bitty abruptly shuts up, tracking Jack’s face, and Jack can’t take it any more, so he leans down and the space between them disappears.

There’s a few seconds of absolute horror when Bitty’s lips are unmoving against his, and he pulls away, mortified, until Bitty gets his hands on Jack’s face and yanks him back down into another kiss and this time—this time Bitty is kissing him like his life depends on it. Jack immediately regrets bringing so much stuff, because the best he can do without dropping everything is to wrap his arms loosely around Bitty’s torso. It’s not nearly enough contact. Jack loses himself in all the different sensations—Bitty’s hands moving down from his cheeks to rest on his chest, Bitty’s hair tickling his forehead, the plush pull of his lips, the curve of his smile—and he decides he doesn’t ever want it to end. What the hell has he been doing these past four years, when he could have been doing this instead?

It’s Bitty who pulls away first, and when Jack looks down at him, he’s sporting a huge smile and an outrageous blush on his cheeks. Jack stupidly wonders how far down it goes. “Um. We should probably get out of the doorway,” he says, biting his lip.

“Oh,” Jack says sheepishly, turning to close the door behind him. “Sorry.”

Bitty shakes his head fondly. “C’mon. We can talk upstairs.” Bitty takes his hand carefully, like he’s asking permission, and Jack holds on to it firmly as they ascend.

“I, um, brought these for you,” Jack says, when they finally step into Bitty’s apartment. He holds up the canister. “I heard you were sick, so I made you some soup—”

Bitty steps up to him, taking the canister in his hands. “You made me soup?”

Jack nods, suddenly shy. “My mom’s recipe.” He raises the round box in his other hand. “And, um. I saw these in Paris and they made me think of you. So.”

Bitty stares at him with an amused smile playing at his lips, but he gasps when he spots the label on the box, and gasps again when he opens it. “Jack. These are Pierre Hermé macarons.”

Jack frowns slightly. “Yeah, I know. I bought them for you.”

Bitty lets out an incredulous laugh. “Pierre Hermé is one of the best pastry chefs in the world.”

“Oh,” Jack says. He didn’t know that.

“And these are really expensive macarons,” Bitty continues.

Jack blinks at him. “I—Really? I don’t even remember seeing the price, I just. Bought them. I think I just missed you.” 

Bitty giggles adorably. “Oh, you ridiculous moose. Come here.” He sets the canister and the box of macarons down on the coffee table and steps into Jack’s space.

This time, when Jack leans down, Bitty rises up to meet him halfway. This time, their kiss is sweet and lingering, and this time, Jack gets to hold Bitty’s waist like he really wanted to earlier.

“Thank you,” Bitty whispers, and he’s still so close that Jack feels the words on his lips.

Jack tips his head down so that their foreheads are pressed together, smiling down at Bitty. “You’re welcome.”

“It’s so thoughtful of you to bring me soup, but I have a confession to make,” Bitty says.

Jack’s hands impulsively tighten on Bitty’s waist. “What is it?”

“No, it’s nothing bad, it’s just.” Bitty grins up at him. “I’m not actually sick.”

“Oh.” Jack is simultaneously suddenly flooded with relief and confusion. "Then why...?"

“I just—I couldn't.” Bitty sighs deeply. “I didn’t think I could look at you today without being completely obvious. I mean, I never expected you to… You know.” He waves his hand vaguely.

Jack feels the weight of Bitty’s words land squarely on his chest. “Bitty, I—”

All of a sudden, there’s a loud knock on Bitty’s door. “ERIC RICHARD BITTLE, YOUR KNIGHTS IN SHINING ARMOR HAVE ARRIVED!”

They both freeze at the sudden intrusion, their arms still stubbornly wrapped around each other. Bitty groans, burying his face in Jack’s chest. “Oh my god. It’s Ransom and Holster.” He looks up at Jack, eyes wide. “You have to hide.”

“What?" Jack frowns. "Hide? I don’t—”

Bitty steps away, and Jack regrets the loss of contact immediately. “They can’t know you’re here! They’re going to chirp me to literal death.”

“Why are they even—”

Bitty leans in to kiss him forcefully, and Jack feels his eyes automatically slide shut, chasing his lips. Bitty gets his hands on Jack’s chest and pushes, ever so gently, and Jack lets himself be pushed. Suddenly, he feels a rustle of cloth behind him and his calves hit a hard surface, causing him to fall into a sitting position, and when he finally opens his eyes, Bitty’s stepping away, whispering, “I am so sorry, please stay here, I promise it’ll be like two seconds,” before closing the closet doors—because he’s literally been pushed into a closet.

“Bitty, what—” He tries to push the doors open, but there’s a strong resistance from the other side. Jack guesses Bittle’s probably leaning back on the doors.

“Please,” Bitty pleads, his voice slightly muffled. “I’ll get rid of them, just—don’t say anything and stay inside.” 

Jack stops pushing and sighs. “Fine.”

“Thank you,” Bitty whispers.

Jack scoots a little further back into the closet to make himself more comfortable, but not too far so that he can still try to hear what’s going on outside. He doesn’t hear the door open, but he does hear when Bitty yells, “How the hell did y’all get up here?”

“The front door was open. Anyway, not important. We heard you were sick!” Holster’s booming voice carries clearly even through the wooden doors of the closet, “so we brought you some soup!”

“We also brought you some meds and ice cream… though it looks like someone’s already brought you soup,” Ransom says. Jack tenses when he realizes that they’d left the canister and the box of macarons out on the coffee table. Ransom probably noticed immediately.

Bitty laughs nervously. “Oh, that? That’s just from my neighbor… Zack.”

Jack has to stifle his laughter. There’s a brief pause in the conversation, and Jack tries to imagine what’s going on. “Zack,” Holster repeats, sounding wholly unconvinced.

“Yup! Real nice old man, he lives right upstairs, always checking up on me. Anyway, I’m not even really sick, so—”

“Bits, are you sure? You never miss work.” Ransom sounds really concerned. “We were worried about you.”

Bitty sighs. “Oh, honey,” he says. “Y’all are so sweet. But I’m really okay, I promise.”

There’s another pause, and Jack tries to lean in as far as he can to hear better.

“Okay, fine,” Holster says. “I bet our soup’s better than Zack’s, though.”

Bitty laughs. “Sweetheart, it’s not a competition.”

“Is too!” Holster insists.

“Okay, fine, whatever! Just—go on, I am a fully capable adult, I can take care of myself! Go on, git! And thanks for the soup!”

Ransom and Holster protest loudly, but their voices muffle significantly once Jack hears the door slam shut and the loud click of a lock. 

He pushes at the closet doors carefully, letting his legs fall out so he can sit more comfortably. “Zack?” he smirks, holding a hand out to Bitty.

“Oh, you hush. I was under pressure,” he grins, taking Jack’s hand and yelping when Jack tugs him down to sit on his lap.

“Why don’t you ever call me those things?” Jack asks, his hands automatically moving down to Bitty’s waist.

“What things?”

“You know,” Jack says. “Honey. Sweetheart.”

Bitty laughs, hands reaching up to clasp together at the nape of Jack’s neck. “Why would you want me to call you those things?”

“You call everyone those things. Last week, you called the doorman at Faber ‘sweetie’ when you greeted him. You’d never even met the guy before.” Jack is just delirious enough to pout at him. 

Bitty raises an eyebrow at him. “Well, before today, you never called me Bitty. Not even Eric. It’s always _Bittle this, Bittle that_ ,” he mocks, knocking his head gently against Jack’s.

Time seems to slow as Jack reaches up to fit his palm over Bitty’s cheek. “Bitty,” he whispers, before he presses forward and kisses him softly. 

Bitty hums into the kiss, pulling away with a loud smack. “Well, if you must know,” he says, “I was trying to be professional. I wouldn’t have lasted four years in this job if I even thought of entertaining my ridiculous crush on you.”

Jack’s mouth drops open in surprise. “Your ridiculous crush on me?”

Bitty scoffs, but he’s smiling. “Have you seen yourself? You’re infuriatingly handsome, Jack. Not to mention kind. Sweet. Thoughtful.” Bitty presses a kiss to his cheek for emphasis.

“Mmm, go on.” Jack knows he must be as red as a tomato at the sudden onslaught of compliments, but he’s also smiling so hard he can’t bring himself to care. 

“Ugh. You’re insufferable. I should have known you’d be insufferable,” Bitty rolls his eyes, giggling. “What do you want me to call you, then? Honey? Baby? Sweetheart?” Bitty pecks him on the lips after every suggestion.

“Mmm, you can call me…” Jack pretends to think about it as Bitty keeps peppering kisses on his face, “...sir.”

Bitty’s mouth forms an adorable ‘O’ in surprise before he swats at Jack’s chest. “You’re an idiot.”

Jack chuckles. “Bitty. I’m kidding,” he whispers. “You can call me whatever you like.”

Bitty hums, his nose wrinkling as he tilts his head teasingly. “How about I call you… mine?”

It’s a line, if Jack’s ever heard one, and it makes Jack laugh. “Bits. That was terrible.”

“You didn’t like it?” Bitty pouts at him, and Jack’s a goner.

He shrugs, feigning aloofness. “Maybe I liked it a little bit.” He leans in to nip at Bitty’s neck.

“Oh my god, you are incorrigible,” Bitty groans, sliding off of Jack’s lap to stand. “Come on,” he says, pulling Jack up. “Let’s move to the couch before I slap you for being so cute.”

  
  
  


“So,” Bitty says eloquently, coming up for air. They’d taken their time on the couch, kissing and touching, curious hands roaming, and they’d somehow ended up in their current position: Bitty straddling Jack’s lap, his arms hanging off of Jack’s shoulders, and Jack’s hands up under Bitty’s hoodie, resting at the small of his back. Jack can’t get over how utterly right it feels. He doesn’t know how he managed to be so far away from Bitty all those years.

“So,” Jack repeats, leaning back on the couch to look up a Bitty. His lips are red and swollen—it’s a fantastic view.

“Hi,” Bitty says, leaning down to kiss Jack’s nose.

“Hi, yourself.” Jack slips his hands a little lower, tracing the line where his skin meets the waistband of his absurdly short shorts.

“So, I have to ask,” Bitty sighs, pushing back slightly on Jack’s chest. “What are we doing?” he asks. He’s clearly struggling to keep a straight face.

Jack frowns up at him. “Making out.”

Bitty rolls his eyes. “Why, thank you, Mr. Zimmermann, for that very insightful observation.”

Jack laughs, spreading his hands across Bitty’s back. “I don’t know, Bits. I like you,” he says simply, reaching forward to kiss his shoulder.

“You like me,” Bitty repeats, blinking.

“Yes,” Jack confirms. “Was that not clear?” He pulls back slightly to look at Bitty.

Bitty absolutely glows at him. “I just didn’t want to assume anything.”

“Well.” Jack gets his hands on Bitty’s face, angling it down so he’s looking straight into Bitty’s eyes when he says, “Feel free to assume all you want.” He reaches up to kiss him softly.

Bitty sighs happily against his lips. “You still haven’t answered my question,” he points out, hands playing with the hair at Jack’s nape.

“What question?”

“About what we’re doing.”

Jack chuckles softly, brushing the hair out of Bitty’s eyes to look at him properly. “What do _you_ want to be doing?”

“I don’t know if we can do what I want to do,” Bitty admits, burying his face in Jack’s shoulder.

“Which is what?” Jack asks mildly.

“Date.” Bitty's voice is muffled as he speaks.

Jack’s brows furrow. “Why wouldn’t we be able to do that?

Bitty pulls back with an incredulous look. “Because—Jack, you’re my _boss_. It’s a bad rom com trope. We could get in trouble.” 

Jack snorts. “Who’re we gonna get in trouble with?”

Bitty just blinks at him. Jack smirks, knowing he’s won the argument.

“I’m just…” Bitty says, fiddling with the strings on Jack’s hoodie. “I guess I just can't quite believe this is real.”

Jack grabs Bitty’s hands, lacing their fingers together and looking at him seriously. “Bitty. I may not have known it until earlier today—”

Bitty squawks. “Earlier today?!”

“—But I want to be with you. I’m sorry it took me so long to realize it, but you’ve become such a huge, important part of my life and even just the thought of not having you there—” 

“Okay, let’s get one thing straight,” Bitty interrupts, cupping Jack’s cheeks in his hands. “You couldn’t get rid of me if you tried.”

Jack feels his grin spread so widely he feels like his face is going to crack from the force of it. It's a good thing he's sitting down because the rush of relief that runs through his body would have been enough to make him collapse. “Oh, thank God.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> From Ngozi’s notes on comic 2.6:  
> “Okay, well, first of all–it is entirely Eric Bittle’s fault that he is in this situation. What does Bitty like? Well-built young men and baking ingredients. What did Bitty do? Took a well-built young man and covered him in baking ingredients honestly I don’t know what he expected.”
> 
> Me: Bitty should go meet the FALCONERS!  
> Me: …FUCK I PUT ALL THE FALCONERS IN THE COMPANY  
> Me: …. OH FUCK I COMPLETELY FORGOT ABOUT SNOWY!!!
> 
> FUN FACT! There was supposed to be a whole side plot involving Kent Parson bc there’s something similar in WWWSK but I realized… it was too messy and also kind of not relevant to the story arc so I scrapped it. But it was supposed to go something like this:  
> \- Bitty contacts Parse to do the opening, because he knew that he and Jack were friends in the Q  
> \- There’s some shenanigans when Jack realizes Bitty’s been emailing back and forth with his ex, Jack gets upset and acts weird about it  
> \- Bitty asks R&H and they tell him about the FANFICTION so he literally has no idea that he did anything wrong  
> \- Actually Jack and Parse are fine, totally civil maybe-even-friends, Jack just has no idea Bitty was doing it for the opening so he got jealous LMFAO a true himbo  
> \- Parse drops in for a visit, sees through both of them immediately and chirps both of them individually  
> \- Jack only explains about Parse when they’re officially together, which Bitty finds hilarious
> 
> As you might have noticed, my favorite plot devices for a Zimbits romance are: Jack being insanely stupidly rich and not caring about money at all, and Bad Bob Zimmermann.
> 
> SO! We have definitely crossed the threshold of dumbass pining and moved onto EXTREME DIABETES-INDUCING FLUFF. THANK U GUYS FOR READING YOUR COMMENTS GIVE ME LIFE ❤️❤️❤️ UP NEXT: OFFICE SHENANIGANS!!!


	7. Chapter 7

On Thursday morning, Jack wakes up at six o’clock in his own bed with an absolutely ridiculous smile on his face. It can’t be helped.

Last night had been… nice. Very nice. Their make out session never evolved into anything more, but they did spend the rest of the night talking and snacking on pastries and enjoying each other’s company. Jack had never thought that being with someone could be so easy, but being close to Bitty like that, without having to police his thoughts or keep his hands from reaching out to touch, had felt so natural, so utterly essential. Almost like breathing.

And Bitty… Jack feels his smile stretch a little bit bigger just at the thought of him. Bitty and his shy smiles and his adorable nose and his freckles and dimples and maddeningly short shorts that drove Jack crazy all night—Jack thought he must have been truly out of his mind not to notice how he felt about him any sooner. Especially during these past few weeks, when he’d been constantly seeking Bitty out under the pretense of trying to get him to stay… Jack’s a complete and utter idiot. No wonder he’d been so desperate for Bitty not to resign. Bitty has had him wrapped around his finger this entire time.

Jack wouldn’t have it any other way. 

He speeds through his morning routine, getting his run in and doing a few extra exercises for good measure (definitely _not_ to show off), and then taking his shower. He steps into his closet to get dressed, grinning when he finds that Bitty’s picked out his favorite deep blue necktie, a gift from his mother on his birthday a few years ago. He changes quickly, spending a few extra seconds in front of the mirror, before finally heading out.

The first thing he notices when he enters the kitchen is the smell wafting in the air—the sweet, enticing aroma of pancakes. The second—and more important—thing he notices is Bitty, his back turned to him by the stove and humming a tune Jack doesn’t recognize.

Jack watches him flip a pancake flawlessly before he walks up to him, plastering himself against Bitty’s back, his arms snaking around his waist. Bitty tenses in surprise but relaxes as soon as Jack presses a quick kiss to the back of his neck.

“Why, good morning, Mr. Zimmermann,” Bitty says, turning to smile up at Jack.

“Mmm, good morning,” Jack says, smiling back. “Why haven’t we been doing this every day since the beginning,” he whines into Bitty’s hair.

Bitty giggles, turning off the stove and around in Jack’s arms to face him. “Because we are professional adults, and we can keep our hands to ourselves when we need to.”

Jack spreads his hands on Bitty’s back. “Speak for yourself.”

Bitty’s laugh rings off the walls of the kitchen. “You’re ridiculous,” he says, stepping away. “Eat your breakfast before it gets cold.”

“Yes, sir,” Jack says, making Bitty laugh again. He sits at his usual spot, where there’s already a stack of pancakes waiting for him, and Bitty settles in across him, carrying a plate of his own. Jack ends up staring at Bitty, cataloguing the gentle swoop of his hair across his forehead and the amused little smile playing at his lips.

“Are you just going to stare at me or what?” Bitty chirps.

Jack flushes, looking down at his pancakes. He drizzles a generous amount of maple syrup on them before taking a bite. Jack moans helplessly. “Bitty, these are _so good_.”

Bitty’s cheeks turn the loveliest shade of pink. “Thank you. I thought maybe I would take you up on your offer to use your kitchen so I could make you breakfast.”

“How thoughtful of you to take advantage of that immediately,” Jack comments with a smirk as he takes another bite.

Bitty shrugs nonchalantly. “What can I say? I’m a thoughtful man.”

Jack barks a laugh, shaking his head. “What do we have today?” he asks.

Bitty finishes chewing as he pulls out his phone. “Not much. You have that meeting with Marketing this afternoon at 2, but nothing else before or after that.”

Jack hums into his coffee mug. “Can you make a reservation at The Dorrance for lunch?”

“Sure, who will you be having lunch with?” Bitty says, tapping away at his phone without even glancing at him.

Jack puts down his coffee and waits until Bitty looks up at him to speak. “I was maybe hoping you’d maybe want to join me?” he says, nervous all of a sudden. Was he being too forward all of a sudden?

Thankfully, Bitty smiles at him. “I’d love that,” he says.

“Good,” Jack says, grinning. “How’s the opening for the rink going?”

Bitty lights up. “Really well,” he says, going back to eating his pancakes. “It’s already been scheduled for the 12th of July.”

Jack waits for him to go on and raises an eyebrow when he doesn’t. “What, that’s it?”

Bitty gets a mischievous glint in his eye. “That’s all you get for now.”

Jack frowns slightly. “You realize you’re obligated to tell me, right?”

“Not really,” Bitty counters. “I mean, I’d need to tell you if something went wrong, but so far everything’s been going swimmingly.” He gives Jack a reassuring smile. “Just—trust me on this, okay?”

Jack sighs. “Okay, fine,” he relents. “I trust you.”

“Great. If you’re done eating, Mr. Zimmermann, I think Fitz has really missed driving you around these past few days,” Bitty says, getting up.

“Has he, now?” Jack smirks, rounding the table and following Bitty out of the house.

“Oh, wait—” Bitty whirls on him suddenly.

Jack stops in his tracks. “What? What’s wrong?”

Bitty steps into Jack’s space, reaching up to adjust his tie. “Sorry, I just.” His hands slip down to rest on Jack’s chest and he smiles up at him sheepishly. “Your tie was crooked. I forgot again.”

Jack decides to take advantage of their closeness and leans in to kiss Bitty sweetly. “Thank you, Bitty.”

“You’re welcome, Mr. Zimmermann.” Bitty smoothly slides his hands down to link with Jack’s. “Shall we?”

  
  
  


Jack faces an unexpected dilemma when they arrive at the office.

He’s used to Bitty always being peripherally present, and it’s always been more of a comfortable presence, but now knowing the reason why he always seems to be drawn to Bitty, knowing exactly why he likes having Bitty around and how it feels like to have Bitty so close… It’s like a switch has been flipped in his brain. Jack itches to reach out and touch him, to hold his hand, to loop an arm around his waist. He walks with both his hands steadfastly shoved into his pockets to avoid doing anything rash.

He thinks maybe it might not be such a big deal to give into this completely irrational need to touch Bitty, but people will definitely notice, especially if it’s something as obvious as holding hands, and then they’ll think… well, Jack doesn’t want to think about what other people will think. Anyway, public displays of affection are just not acceptable in a professional environment, no matter who’s involved. He imagines it would cause quite a stir to see the CEO being so openly affectionate with his assistant all of a sudden. Not that people would give him trouble for it. Probably.

God, it hadn’t even been a day. Jack can restrain himself, he thinks. He’s a professional. He’s done it for the past four years.

Jack tries to go about his day normally, and he uses the morning to read the minutes of the meetings he’d missed when he was in France and to look through applications for the still-vacant HR position. The problem is he keeps catching glimpses of Bitty through the glass windows of his office and then getting distracted from whatever he’s doing. He has to flip the switch that fogs the glass up just so that he’s not tempted to watch Bitty work and lose track of whatever he’s supposed to be doing.

Jack manages to get most of his reading done by the time they go out to lunch without any further distractions, until Bitty pokes his head into Jack’s office, reminding him about their reservation. Fitz drops them off at the restaurant, which is one of Jack’s favorites, not just for the food and the service, but also because of the building’s history. He waits patiently as Bitty oohs and ahs over the grandeur of the place, and then oohs and ahs over the “exquisite” menu, and then once they’re finally alone, their orders placed and drinks delivered, Jack reaches across the table and immediately grabs Bitty’s hand. Bitty smiles at Jack, but there’s a certain strain that hadn’t been there before.

“You okay, Bits?” Jack asks, just to be sure.

Bitty nods frantically. “Oh, yes! I’m just…” He takes another look around, like he’s taking it all in. “I make reservations here all the time! It’s just kind of weird to be eating here for the first time when I’m practically best friends with their manager, you know?” 

Jack chuckles uneasily, suddenly feeling uncomfortable. “Oh. Sorry.”

Bitty’s eyes widen comically. “No, no, not in a bad way! I didn’t mean to make you feel bad or anything.”

Jack hesitates, trying to figure out what part of what Bitty’s saying is causing the unsettling feeling in his stomach. He frowns, shaking his head. “You don’t always have to—I could make the reservations myself—”

“You will do no such thing!” Bitty insists suddenly, gripping Jack’s hand firmly on the table. “Making reservations is part of my job, and I take pride in doing my job perfectly, thank you very much.” 

Jack exhales, squeezing Bitty’s hand back. “Okay. I’m still sorry, though.”

Bitty’s smile eases into a more genuine one. “It’s okay, sweetpea. I promise it’s really not a big deal. I’m just not used to it, but honestly? I don’t think that’s going to be a problem.” He raises both his eyebrows for emphasis.

Jack lets himself relax a little bit at the endearment. “Sweetpea?”

Bitty examines him seriously before nodding once. “Yup,” he says, popping the p. “I think sweetpea suits you,” he decides with a teasing smile.

There’s a pause in their conversation where they’re both just staring at each other, still smiling but unsure of what to say. The easy air of that morning’s breakfast has dissipated into a deafeningly awkward silence. Jack scrambles for another topic, but he hasn’t been on a date in so long, and it would be kind of moot to ask Bitty most of the first date questions that pop up in his head when he can answer them himself. He tries to keep his face as neutral as possible as he stares at their joined hands, but when he looks up, Bitty is watching him with a funny look on his face.

“What?” Jack asks, feeling self-conscious.

Bitty scrunches his nose, smothering a laugh with his free hand.

Jack frowns, feeling a blush rise on his cheeks. He hesitantly pulls his hand away. “What’s happening?”

Bitty finally lets a little giggle escape before clapping both his hands over his mouth. “Oh my goodness. This is ridiculous. Why is this so weird?”

Jack exhales loudly, laughing a bit himself. “I know, right? We see each other everyday. Why don’t we have things to talk about?”

Bitty tilts his head to the side, tapping his chin. “I mean, we could talk about work. I heard R&D—”

“No, no work stuff,” Jack says quickly, shaking his head. “We’re on a date, Bittle.” They already talk about work all day, and while Jack thinks it’s probably part of why conversation with Bitty was always easy, he doesn’t want that to be the only thing they ever talk about.

“Well, if we’re on a date,” Bitty says, “maybe we should talk about date stuff.”

Jack sighs. Hopefully Bitty’s better at first dates than he is. “Okay, I’ll bite. Like what?”

“Like…” Bitty wrinkles his nose, thinking. “So Jack, what do you do?” he asks finally, a teasing smile playing at his lips.

Jack gives him a weird look. “Bittle, you know what I—”

“Ssh, just play along,” Bitty says, nodding encouragingly.

Jack frowns slightly, but the corner of his lip tugs upward. “I, um… I run a company. It’s mostly full service restaurants, but we also have a few retail product lines in the market,” he says. “How about you?”

Bitty grins at him. “I’m an executive assistant to a very accomplished CEO.”

Jack nods, going along with it. “That sounds really stressful. What do you like to do in your free time?”"

“Oh, it’s not too bad. My boss is a real looker,” Bitty shrugs, winking at Jack, who can’t help but let out an aborted chuckle. “But I like to bake, mostly, when I’m not working,” he continues. “How about you?”

“I like to read. Mostly non-fiction. History, biographies, that sort of thing,” Jack answers.

Bitty nods politely, his cheeky smile betraying the fact that he already knew that as he waits for Jack to ask his next question. There’s another moment where they’re just staring at each other as Jack struggles to think of something to ask, until Bitty starts laughing again, and it sets Jack off too.

“Why is this still weird?” Bitty wheezes, hunching over in laughter.

The absurdity of the situation has Jack in stitches, too. “We know—everything about each other—”

It takes them a while to calm down. They probably look like a bunch of idiots, cracking up at an extremely high end restaurant in the middle of downtown Providence, but Jack can’t really bring himself to care.

“Okay,” Bitty says, when they’ve both finally settled enough that their laughing has subsided to amused sighs. “So.”

“So,” Jack repeats, tamping down the bout of laughter that’s bubbling up in his chest.

Bitty takes a deep breath, biting his lip. “So. I was thinking,” he says, looking up at Jack. “Since we know so much about each other already, why don’t you tell me something I don’t already know?”

Jack immediately knows what he wants to say. It really should be harder to come up with something, especially since Bitty knows almost everything about him, but he’s almost certain this is something that he’s hidden very well over the past few years. Jack smirks at Bitty, who’s watching him in anticipation.

“I actually have a gigantic sweet tooth.”

Bitty’s eyes narrow to slits. “You’re messing with me.”

“Am not,” Jack swears, holding a hand up in oath. “I’m sorry, Bits, I’ve just gotten really good at hiding it!”

Bitty looks greatly affronted by Jack’s confession, his arms crossed and his lips pouted, and Jack finds it ridiculously adorable. “All this time, I’ve been trying to get you to eat my sweets and you kept refusing—Jack! That is the cruellest thing I’ve ever heard!”

“I was a fat kid,” Jack explains, shrugging. “And with my parents being who they are… The media was not always nice to me. There was this pressure to always look perfect, and I think I kind of internalized it? Martha knows all about it,” he says, and Bitty chuckles at the mention of his therapist. “I kind of learned how to control myself and get to a place where I could feel good about how I looked, and then, over the years, I guess I just kind of got used to maintaining it.”

“Oh, honey.” Bitty’s expression softens instantly. “It’s okay to have sweets once in a while, you know?” he says. “Although, I can’t say I blame you for wanting to look good.” Bitty gives him an obvious once over, smirking.

Jack snorts. “Why do you think there are never any leftovers in the break room whenever you leave out some cookies?”

Bitty’s mouth falls open in surprise. “You’re the mystery cookie monster?! You could have just asked me!”

Jack laughs. “It was awkward! And God knows how much weight I’d put on if you started bringing me treats more often that you already do, even when you thought I didn’t like them.”

Bitty suddenly perks up. “Oh my god, what’s your favorite?”

“Favorite what?”

“Sweet,” Bitty says, like it’s obvious.

 _Oh_. That’s easy. “Reese’s.”

Bitty throws up his hands, exasperated, but he’s laughing slightly. “What is it with you and peanut butter?”

“Hold over from my hockey days. Pre-game rituals are sacred, Bittle, as I’m sure you know,” Jack says. “What was yours?”

“Pre-game ritual?” Bitty grins. “I had a pre-game playlist. Though it was like 90% Beyonce, of course.”

“That’s that singer you like, right?” Jack asks, recognizing the name from before.

Bitty literally gasps loudly, looking even more offended than before, and then he launches into a full-on tirade about how Beyonce is not just a singer, but a lifestyle. He quickly realizes how hopelessly clueless Jack is about pop culture and vows to school him about the current music scene as soon as possible. Jack chirps him about his obsession with this person he’s never even met before, and Bitty scolds him for jinxing it from happening.

The conversation flows easily from there, and then it’s like the awkward start never happened. Their food arrives shortly after, and at Bitty’s insistence, they trade bites of their food “just to taste.” Jack finds out Bitty used to run a Youtube channel where he demonstrated how to make pies and other pastries and ranted about his personal life to an audience of about ten thousand followers. Jack tells Bitty about the time he had to run the football team out of the hockey house at Harvard, which reminds Bitty about the legendary parties his hockey team used to throw at Samwell, and that sets off a chain of crazy college stories. Jack doesn’t remember the last time he’s talked this much and genuinely enjoyed it as much as he’s enjoying this. It’s fun listening to Bitty, how funny and sassy and confident he is, but Jack finds he’s having fun talking to Bitty, too. 

Before he knows it, Bitty’s phone is buzzing on the table insistently. 

“Oh my god, how has it already been almost two hours?” Bitty says, looking up at Jack with wide eyes.

“Wow, really?” Jack checks his watch and true enough, it’s nearly 1:30.

Bitty nods, tapping away on his phone, probably texting Fitz. “We better get going if we wanna make it back in time for that meeting,” he says sadly.

Jack signals for the check, which makes Bitty start stammering about splitting the bill until Jack levels him with a look. “Bittle. I invited you here, so it’s my treat,” he says matter-of-factly.

Bitty puffs his cheeks. “Okay, fine, but next time, it’s my turn.”

Jack bites his tongue on the argument that forms in his head, instead raising an eyebrow. “Next time, eh?”

“Yes, next time,” Bitty says, smiling at Jack. “I am of the understanding that your Saturday is quite vacant, Mr. Zimmermann.”

Jack smirks at the implication. “Well, apparently not anymore.”

Bitty’s grin grows wider. “Great,” he says. “It’s a date.”

  
  
  


They get back to the office with time to spare, and it’s only then that Bitty gets notified that the meeting will start a little later due to some last minute adjustments to their presentation. Jack decides to spend the extra time to prepare for the meeting, reviewing Alexei’s last email.

However difficult it was to stay away from Bitty that morning, Jack finds it’s ten times harder now, after he’d just spent the last two hours in almost constant contact with him—holding his hand on the table, playing footsie under the table. It also doesn’t help that Bitty’s been leaving casual touches every chance he gets—smoothening out his suit jacket, brushing nonexistent particles off of Jack’s face, patting his arm, lingering every time he hands Jack a stack of paper (which, honestly, Jack has no idea how Bitty keeps finding new stacks of paper to hand him, all within a fifteen-minute window)—and it’s slowly driving Jack insane. 

When Bitty calls him out for the meeting, Jack falls into step with him and pulls him back, letting Chowder walk ahead. “Okay, you need to stop.”

Bitty looks at him innocently. “Stop what?”

Jack glares at him, all fake heat. “You _know_ what, Bittle.”

Bitty’s polite smile turns devilish. “Mm, I’m not so sure I do, Mr. Zimmermann.”

Jack stares at him, but Bitty just continues walking down the hallway. He groans, scrubbing a hand over his face, following Bitty and Chowder to the elevator. He doesn’t know if he’s even more frustrated or relieved that they’re not alone so that Bitty doesn’t get the extra opportunity to do anything.

They enter the conference room just as the last few attendees file in, and Jack heads straight for his spot at the head of the table with Bitty sitting immediately to his left, Chowder to his left. He notices that Bitty sits slightly closer to him than usual, but doesn’t think to call him out on it. The meeting starts promptly, Alexei Mashkov stepping up and greeting everyone to begin the presentation.

Jack tries to listen intently to analysis of the data being flashed on the screen, and he’s just about to point out an error in the percentages when he feels Bitty press his shoe against Jack’s. Jack glances at him, frowning, but Bitty resolutely keeps his foot where it is.

“Uh,” Jack says dumbly, forcing his attention back to the meeting. “Alexei, I think there’s a discrepancy with the numbers.”

Alexei’s eyebrows quirk as he glances at the current slide. “Where is discrepancy, boss?”

“The percentage is wrong,” Jack says, gesturing to the second column. “That ratio amounts to 72 percent, give or take.”

Alexei frowns down at his phone, which he seems to be using as a calculator. “Huh. Boss is right, that number should be 72. Sorry, boss. We change it and have new version sent to you immediately.”

Jack sighs, settling back into his seat. “It’s fine, I’m sure it doesn’t actually affect the rest of your strategy. Continue.”

Alexei starts talking about the new target market they’ve identified for the campaign, and Jack starts to scribble notes onto his iPad, studiously ignoring the way Bitty’s foot is now nudging up to Jack’s ankle. He attempts to move away slightly, and that miraculously gets Bitty to stop. Jack takes a deep breath and tries to focus.

He gets a few blissful minutes of trying to catch up with all that’s been said, scrolling through his own copy of the presentation, when he suddenly feels a heavy hand on his thigh. His breath catches at the sudden contact, but when he looks over at Bitty, he has an artfully neutral expression on his face.

“Bittle,” Jack whispers forcefully.

“Yes, sir?” Bitty turns to him, a mischievous smile playing at his lips. He starts tracing circles on his thigh with his thumb, and Jack lets out an embarrassing strangled noise from the back of his throat that hopes no one else catches.

Jack takes a deep breath to steady himself. “What happened to being professional adults?”

Bitty remains cool and collected. “I’m sure I have no idea what you’re talking about, sir.”

Jack huffs, indignant, before deciding what the hell. Two can play at that game. Chowder’s taking minutes, anyway; he can just read through those again. He slips his left hand under the table and grabs Bitty’s hand on his thigh to stop him from doing anything more, tangling their fingers together in finality. Bitty squeezes his hand, but makes no further moves. Satisfied, Jack picks up his stylus and turns his attention back to the meeting.

When he allows himself to check, Bitty’s face is as impassive as ever, the picture of professionalism, but Jack can see the barest hint of pink on his cheeks. He smirks triumphantly.

They spend the rest of the—thankfully brief—meeting like that, holding hands under the table, and Jack leans into the contact instead of trying to ignore it so that he doesn’t get distracted. Eventually, Bitty needs to pull away so he can type some reminders down on his phone, and to Jack’s endless relief and disappointment, he doesn’t attempt to touch Jack again. 

On their way back to their floor, Chowder chatters at them about how he thinks the new strategy might really work, especially with all the data they presented. Jack nods along politely, offering a few of his own comments, until they reach his office.

Jack turns to Chowder. “Are you busy, Chow?”

Chowder looks puzzled. “Right now, sir?” Jack nods, and Chowder shakes his head in answer. “Oh, no! Unless you needed something?”

“I’m, uh… kind of craving a donut. Can you run downstairs and get me one?” Jack says, and he hears Bitty smother a snicker from behind him.

“Oh! Of course, sir, I’ll be right back with that!” Chowder almost trips over himself in his rush, and Jack watches him round the corner to make sure he’s gone before he grabs Bitty’s arm, yanks him into his office, and kisses him soundly.

“You—” Jack breathes, pressing Bitty against the door, “are fucking insufferable—” 

Bitty gives as good as he gets, kissing Jack fiercely and teasing his lips with his tongue. “Mm, so worth it,” he licks into Jack’s mouth, his hands running up and down his back. “You were just so fucking—hot—how did you even know it was 72 percent?” 

Jack lets out a strangled moan, letting himself enjoy having Bitty so close and losing himself in the kiss for a few moments. He lets his hands wander down to Bitty’s ass, squeezing it briefly like he’s wanted to all day, before he pulls away and steps back, panting.

“Bittle, we can’t—”

“I know,” Bitty says, biting his lip. “I’m sorry. I just—I wasn’t expecting it to be so hard to—”

“I know,” Jack echoes, running a hand through his hair. “You’d think we’d be better at this, eh?” He holds a hand out and Bitty takes it, pulling him to one of the couches.

Bitty sighs, laughing a little as he falls onto the couch. “I think we just need to get it all out,” he says. “Maybe it was a mistake picking out this tie, after all.”

Jack chuckles, sitting close enough that their thighs are pressed together. “I’ll choose the tie tomorrow,” he suggests, pressing a kiss to Bitty’s knuckles.

Bitty laughs for real. “That would be a good idea. You are absolutely hopeless at fashion.” He fiddles with Jack’s tie for a second, before tugging on it gently and pulling Jack down into a gentle kiss.

Jack groans a little, pulling away just a hair. “Stop, or else I’m going to develop a Pavlovian response to this tie thing,” he says seriously.

Bitty giggles. “That would be hilarious, Mr. Zimmermann.”

“Oh, yeah?” Jack challenges. “You wear a tie, too.” He runs a hand up Bitty’s chest under his necktie.

Bitty snorts. “It won’t work, ‘cause I’m shorter,” he says. “You gotta pull down,” he pulls slightly on Jack’s tie again, bringing their faces closer, “for it to work.”

Jack _has_ to press another kiss to Bitty’s lips then, because how could he not? He cradles Bitty’s face in his hands as Bitty reaches around Jack’s waist, and Jack pulls him sideways into his lap. Bitty has to lean down to kiss him from his new position, and Jack decides to take advantage by reaching for his tie.

He pulls away with a loud smack, looking up at Bitty. “Like this?” he teases, catching Bitty’s tie between two fingers and tugging him down again. Bitty hums as Jack starts trailing soft kisses down Bitty’s neck, which is why the clicking sound registers too late and the door’s already open before either of them realizes what’s happening.

“Mr. Zimmermann, I got your donut—” Chowder stops short when he spots Jack and Bitty on the couch, and both spring apart immediately at the sound of his voice. 

“Chowder!” Bitty stands abruptly, twisting his hands. “You’re back so soon!”

Jack looks over at where Chowder is standing sheepishly with a bright blush painted on his face, barely inside the office. He’s just about to say something when he hears a soft snort followed by a pointed shush from outside. 

“Chowder,” Jack says slowly, standing to full height and approaching the door. “Who else is—” 

Chowder’s eyes widen in panic. “No one, I don’t know what you’re—”

Jack notices movement out of the corner of his eye, and when he turns to look, he finds Ransom, Holster, Shitty, and Lardo watching him through the window, crouched down low with pained expressions, like they’re sneaking away on some cartoon show. It would be hilarious if it wasn’t also incredibly embarrassing.

Jack sighs, scrubbing a hand over his face before he gestures them all inside. He turns to Bitty, whose cheeks are the reddest Jack’s ever seen. Jack breathes a laugh, walking over to him. “I guess this is happening, eh?” he says quietly.

Bitty looks up at him, eyes searching. “Are you sure it’s okay?”

Jack glances at Chowder, who’s resolutely staring at the floor, still holding the white paper bag and a cup of coffee by the door. He sighs again. “Might as well,” he says, before clearing his throat. “Team meeting, guys. Come on in,” he calls, looking over at the window.

They all file in slowly and silently, looking chastened, and Jack gestures to the opposite couch before resuming his previous position. Bitty settles in next to him hesitantly as the rest of the team squeezes onto the couch. Shitty decides to sit on the armrest, a smirk plastered on his face.

Jack takes in their various expressions, crossing his arms. “Explain,” Jack says, and Chowder leans forward dutifully.

“I’m _so_ sorry, sir. I went downstairs and got that donut for you, and then I decided to get you some tea as well, because you looked a little red during the meeting—”

Bitty snorts, and Jack glares at him briefly before gesturing to Chowder to continue.

Chowder takes a deep breath. “Anyway, I ran into Ransom and Holster on the way back and they said they needed to talk to you about something, so I said we can ask Bitty if you were free, but then Bitty wasn’t at his desk, so we tried to peek into your office and then you guys were sitting awfully close on the couch and we were confused at first so we were just standing there, I guess, and then Mr. Shitty and Lardo saw us in the hallway and asked us what we were doing, and then... and then we saw you—” 

Lardo coughs. “Making out.”

“Like a bunch of horndogs,” Shitty agrees.

“You guys were really going for it,” Ransom supplies.

Holster nods. “It was actually impressive.”

Bitty lets out a startled laugh, covering his mouth with a hand.

Jack sighs deeply, leaning back into the couch. “So if you saw us already, why would you—”

“That was my bad, brah,” Shitty says, raising his hand and not looking guilty at all. “There was a window when we thought you guys were done, and I told Chowder he’d better give you your tea before it got cold and that he couldn't afford to wait any longer at the rate you guys were going—”

“Okay, I think I got it, Shits, thank you,” Jack says, glaring at Shitty, who gives him a wink. 

“Oh! Your donut!” Chowder says suddenly, hastily getting up.

“Thank you, Chow,” Jack says, holding a hand up. “You can just put it down on the table.”

Chowder does as he’s told before moving back into his corner of the couch. Jack looks over at Bitty questioningly, and Bitty nods, taking a deep breath. This was definitely not how he thought his afternoon would go, but he supposes it’s consistent with the way the rest of his day has been going. At least they can get it out of the way early.

“Alright,” Jack says, commanding everyone’s attention. He takes Bitty’s hand and squeezes. “Bittle and I are dating. If any of you have a problem with that, you can take it up with me. Don’t bother Bittle about it.”

It’s completely silent for a few seconds as everyone seems to absorb the information, and then Shitty leaps off the couch, tackling Jack, shouting, “You fucking gorgeous motherfucker!” which causes the rest of them to promptly lose their shit. Ransom, Holster, and Lardo jump up to exchange a three-way high five, and Chowder is laughing a little hysterically, probably out of relief.

“We told you he was in love with you, bro! You just didn’t know it!” Holster says to Bitty, who’s laughing into Jack’s shoulder.

“Well, he didn’t know it either, apparently,” Bitty says, looking up at Jack fondly.

“Wow! I’m so happy for you guys!” Chowder says, the color in his face finally subsiding.

Jack huffs a laugh at his sudden enthusiasm. “Thanks, Chow.”

Lardo looks between the two of them. “When did this start?”

“Well... yesterday,” Bitty answers, smiling at Jack.

“YESTERDAY?” Shitty booms, guffawing. “YOU COULDN’T KEEP IT IN YOUR PANTS FOR _ONE DAY_?”

“We kept it in our pants for four years,” Jack mutters sardonically.

Shitty throws his arms around Jack, pressing a kiss to the top of his head. “I’m so fucking proud of you, brah. I knew you only bought those fancy-ass macarons to seduce a certain itty bitty baker—”

“Macarons?” Ransom perks up. “Wasn’t there a box of macarons next to that soup from Bitty’s upstairs neighbor last night?”

“Holy shit.” Holster’s eyes widen comically, turning to Bitty. “Was Zimmermann at your apartment last night?”

Bitty turns bright red. “He—”

Ransom shoots up. “Oh my god, was that his soup? Did he beat us in bringing you soup?!”

Holster squints at Bitty. “Yo, where did you even hide him? Your apartment is a studio!”

Jack decides to step in before the interrogation gets out of hand. “Okay, calm down, everyone,” he says. “I just said don’t bother Bittle about it.”

“Aww,” Lardo coos. “That is so cute and also so unfair.”

“Yeah, Bits,” Holster says. “Making out in the office? For shame.”

Ransom nods along solemnly. “That’s at least ten bucks in the sin bin.”

Bitty squawks in protest. “That was in private!”

“Not so private when half of the walls in this office are windows,” Shitty points out, waggling his brows. “Especially when you could have flipped a switch to fog them out.”

Jack sighs heavily. “How about you all just take the rest of the day off and you can call it even on the fine, eh?”

The team huddles together, Ransom yanking a mildly confused Chowder into their little discussion, before straightening up and facing Jack with solemn expressions.

“We think that is an acceptable proposition, boss,” Lardo says conclusively.

“Yes, how generous of you to allow me to let you off work early,” Jack deadpans. Shitty snorts a laugh, which makes Jack crack a smile. “Now get the hell out of my office.”

They fall over themselves trying to let themselves out, shouting out their thanks and congratulations, leaving Shitty alone with Jack and Bitty.

“Well, then,” Shitty says, clapping Jack on the shoulder. “I guess I’ll leave you guys to it. I’m happy for you, Jackaron.”

Jack chuckles at the unexpected nickname. “Thanks, Shits,” he says.

“Absolutely 100% do everything I would do,” Shitty says, winking at Bitty before shutting the door behind him.

Jack exhales loudly. “Why did I hire those people,” he says, falling back onto the couch and closing his eyes.

Bitty just laughs, tucking his feet up under himself and leaning sideways on the backrest. “Because they’re highly skilled and good at what they do?” he offers.

Jack groans. “Damn. Got me there.” 

Bitty hums, and he feels him shift a little on the couch. “Maybe you should eat your donut, honey. It’s jelly-filled.”

Jack cracks one eye open to look over at Bitty, who’s looking into the white paper bag that Chowder brought. “I never wanted a donut,” he admits, reaching out to play with Bitty’s fingers. “I just needed an excuse to get rid of Chowder.”

“Oh, I knew that,” Bitty says, rolling his eyes. “You’re not exactly subtle, you know.”

“So I’ve been told,” Jack says, smiling a bit. “Hey. We’ve got the rest of the afternoon free, right?”

Bitty raises an eyebrow, the corner of his mouth turning up slightly. “Yeah, why?”

“Wanna get out of here?” Jack smirks, jerking his head in the direction of the door. 

“Why, Mr. Zimmermann,” Bitty drawls at him, batting his eyelashes exaggeratedly. “I thought you’d never ask.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Alexa play Hands to Myself by Selena Gomez ¯\\_(ツ)_/¯
> 
> Just as a clarification, Jack and Bitty are out individually, and they weren’t strictly trying to hide their relationship because they are COMICALLY bad at doing so, it was more of just trying to keep it lowkey which again is IMPOSSIBLE for these two, so the team finding out was kind of inevitable + who doesn't love wacky office shenanigans!
> 
> Anyway, sorry this took so long compared to the other chapters! I knew I was gonna hit a wall sometime, especially with how fast I've been writing lately LMAO WOO we're down to the last three chapters!! Thanks so much for reading/commenting/kudosing!! Getting the notifs in my email is always the highlight of my day 🥺❤️
> 
> sorry i mistyped in the last chapter but now it's for real! UP NEXT: a date??? perchance... two???


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this chapter really got away from me lmfao there was supposed to be a chunk of plot happening here but then my hand slipped and i ended up with like almost 7k of just pure fluff. sorry... but also not really! ¯\\_(ツ)_/¯

Bitty had not always been much of a planner.

He was a master procrastinator his whole academic career, only succumbing to deadlines when it was almost too late, but he quickly learned that that kind of behavior did not fly with a man such as Jack Zimmermann. In many ways, Bitty had to learn to become the best version of himself because of Jack. At first, it started out as the need to impress his boss, to prove that he wasn’t the wrong choice, and, at the very least, to make sure he stayed employed. If Bitty-the-fresh-grad had seen Bitty now, planning out a date like it was a war plan, he would be appalled at best and maybe horrified at worst.

But he was used to scheduling Jack’s days, and this pretty much felt exactly like that, except suddenly Bitty felt like he was back in his first year on the job with the self-inflicted pressure to impress Jack. Of course, there was nothing that Jack’s said or done to him in recent memory that made him think that he needed to step up his game (in fact, Jack seemed to be perfectly happy with whatever he gave him) but honestly, he still hadn’t quite wrapped his head around the fact that Jack Laurent Zimmermann wanted to be with him. The last three days had been straight out of Bitty’s dreams—they’d gotten a hold of themselves after that first day and learned how to refrain from being so hopelessly obvious in the office, but Jack had still been so sweet, shooting him heart-stopping smiles and leaving lingering touches when he could—but frankly, he was still waiting for the other shoe to drop. He figured he wasn’t going to take his chances and plan a subpar outing just because Jack Zimmermann seemed to be interested in him. Certainly not when Jack Zimmermann could leave him for literally anyone he wanted on the face of this earth.

He just… really wants to make this the most perfect date, especially since it’s their first real date and not just a few stolen office hours at a fancy restaurant. Bitty doesn’t really have much experience on the dating front, other than a few meaningless flings in college and a couple one night stands that weren’t stellar, so it actually scares him a little bit, how big his feelings are, especially considering how long it’s been since said feelings manifested. There’s a certain part of him that’s afraid that he feels much more strongly than Jack does, which is fine, maybe even inevitable—Bitty still doesn’t quite understand what possessed Jack to kiss him that day, but definitely he’s not going to be the one to complain. 

In any case, he certainly wasn’t going to start slacking now. He has four years of insider info on Jack to come up with something that’s fun and new and exciting for him that he’ll also enjoy. Bitty knew Jack was a creature of habit, but seeing as Jack’s habits were—let’s face it—lightyears outside of Bitty’s budget, he had to make do with what he had. That’s when he realized that getting to plan this date was probably a good chance to let Jack into his world, much like Bitty had experienced stepping into The Dorrance for the first time.

He starts listing date ideas when he comes home that day, slightly disheveled from how Jack had pulled him into his house briefly to kiss him soundly before letting him go, and then plans like a fiend—down to looking up bus schedules and consulting his own spreadsheets—to figure out what they should do. He wants to do something that would be new to Jack but not so unfamiliar that he gets uncomfortable. He scrolls through his camera roll to try to find restaurants that he’s enjoyed in the area, until he stops at the one that Lardo had introduced to him two years ago. He’s a little nervous about Jack’s reaction because he’s pretty sure Jack’s never tried that kind of cuisine before, but he’s pretty sure he’s going to like it. Hopefully. 

(He makes reservations at two other nearby spots, just in case.)

And then there was… after dinner. Bitty didn’t want to be presumptuous about how their date would end, but he wanted to at least give Jack a subtle hint that he would be okay with doing... _other things_ with Jack, if he wanted. He decides making dessert and leaving it at Jack’s house for them to come back to will work because even if their night doesn’t end up _that way_ , they can still enjoy some sweet treats before Bitty bids Jack good night. It also gives Bitty the opportunity to surprise Jack with his latest experiment that he’d been working on since Thursday, fuelled by Jack’s sudden admission to having a sweet tooth.

Despite being his assistant for four years, Bitty had never really been privy to Jack’s personal life beyond knowing all his plans and some important people in Jack’s social circle. Up until a few weeks ago, he’d never really gotten the chance to see Jack completely shed his intimidating CEO persona—he’d had glimpses, of course, but never for extended periods of time, at least not until that day at Faber. He’s so excited to be able to discover all these new things about Jack that he didn’t already know, happy that he gets the chance to share himself with Jack in the same way.

It’s 9 AM on Saturday and Bitty’s finalizing his plans for their date later that night, cross-legged on his bed with his laptop set in front of him. Just as he’s about to get up to start the rest of the desserts he’s planned for later that night, his phone buzzes lightly next to him. He leans over to check—it’s a text from Jack. 

_Good morning, Bittle._

Bitty can’t help but smile dopily as he picks up his phone to tap a reply, but before he’s even able to send it, his phone buzzes again.

_I’m so excited to see you. :)_

He indulges himself and lets out a squeal at Jack’s endearingly sincere message. _God_. What even is his life. He sends his previously typed out reply and adds a string of heart emojis for good measure.

Honestly, even with all his worries about what could happen later that night, Bitty can’t wait either.

  
  


Bitty shows up at Jack’s house ten minutes early, partly out of habit and also partly out of nerves. He’d spent half an hour agonizing over what to wear before finally settling on a simple outfit, just his favorite pair of dark jeans, a printed polo, and a denim jacket, but when Jack finally opens the door, he suddenly feels severely inadequate. Jack looks hopelessly handsome in a crisp white shirt rolled up to his elbows, the top two buttons undone, paired with navy linen pants, and his hair is flopping over his eyes instead of its usual slicked-back style, and even from where he’s standing Jack smells so, _so_ good, and Bitty can’t believe this is the man he’s about to take on a date.

Jack’s mouth spreads into a wide grin as he takes Bitty in, his eyes impossibly blue and piercing. “Hi,” he says.

“Hi,” Bitty parrots uselessly, still staring at Jack because _holy mother of God_.

“You look great, Bits,” Jack says, smiling at him.

Bitty feels all the blood in is body rush to his cheeks. “Um, thank you. You, too, but—um. I thought I said casual.” The words are out before he can stop them, and he mentally smacks himself. “I mean—” 

Jack looks down at himself, startled. “Oh, sorry—I can go change—” 

That makes Bitty snap out of the trance he’s in. “No! No, it’s not bad. At all. I’m just.” He takes a deep breath, laughing a little hysterically. “You look so good, honey. I don’t really know what to do with myself.”

Jack ducks his head, looking quietly pleased. “Thanks. I, uh, had a bit of help.”

Bitty raises an eyebrow. “Help?”

“Oh.” Jack chuckles sheepishly. “I may have... asked my mom for some fashion advice?”

Bitty laughs, Jack’s admission somewhat easing his nerves a bit. “Oh, you ridiculous moose. Are you going to let me in or what?”

“Oh, shit,” Jack says, moving aside and opening the door wider. “Sorry, sorry, please come in!” He finally spots the small cooler in Bitty’s hands, reaching down to take it, but Bitty moves it away.

“Nu-uh, this is for after dinner,” Bitty says sternly, moving the cooler out of his reach. “I’ll just pop these in the fridge and then we can go!”

Jack follows Bitty to the kitchen with a quizzical look. “Are you finally going to tell me what we’re doing?” 

“Nope,” Bitty says, winking at Jack over his shoulder. “It’s a surprise. And so are these treats, so turn around while I put these away.”

Jack lets out an exasperated laugh but obediently turns around. “Can I at least get a hint?”

“No hints,” Bitty says, sliding the last container into the fridge and heading over to where Jack is standing, tapping him on the shoulder gently.

Jack turns around quickly, stepping into Bitty’s space and reaching for his waist. “Hey.”

“Hey, yourself, Mr. Zimmermann,” Bitty says, smiling up at him. “Are you ready to go?” Jack nods, and Bitty takes a deep breath. “Okay. I don’t have a car so we’re going to have to take the bus, but if you don’t feel comfortable with that, I already gave Fitz a heads up or we can take your car, if you prefer to drive. Either way is fine, it’s really up to you—” 

“Stop,” Jack says, taking Bitty’s hands and lacing their fingers together.

“Stop what?” Bitty says, freezing. “I knew I should have just arranged for the driver, it would have made—” He’s abruptly cut off by Jack’s lips on his, and Bitty’s eyes fall shut at the contact immediately. 

Jack pulls away with an amused smile. “Just… stop being so assistant-y,” he says, his tone teasing. “We can take the bus. We’ll do whatever you have planned, okay? I promise I’ll like it.”

Bitty searches Jack’s face for any signs that he’s uncomfortable and is completely unprepared for the fondness he finds instead. “Okay,” he says, letting himself smile. “We’ll take the bus.”

There’s a bus stop a few blocks away from Jack’s house, and they hold hands the whole way there. They don’t have to wait long for a bus to arrive, because Bitty’s planning skills are actually perfect, and Bitty has a little fun as Jack tries to figure out how to pay for the ride before taking pity on him and paying for him, too. Once that’s done, he looks around and realizes that this bus is actually quite full and all the seats are already taken.

He turns to Jack, an apology ready on his lips, but Jack just smiles at him. “It’s okay, we can stand.”

Bitty wills himself to relax, grabbing onto the nearest pole as Jack reaches up for a hanging strap. Jack stands much closer to him than absolutely necessary, close enough that Bitty has to really look up to look at Jack, but Bitty doesn’t mind at all. 

The bus stops abruptly and Jack falls into Bittle a little. “Oof, sorry.”

Bitty grasps at Jack’s biceps to steady him and notes how he makes no move to recover what little space was between them. He smirks up at him. “No you’re not.”

Jack grins down at him. “You’re right, I’m really not.”

Jack stays close to him (“So that I don’t fall,” he says, which is ridiculous) for the rest of the ride, and after four quick stops, Bitty reaches for Jack’s hand and leads him out onto the street.

“It’s just down this way,” Bitty says, looping his arm around Jack’s, quietly thrilled about how he apparently gets to walk down the street like this now.

Jack looks down at Bitty with a crooked smile. “Are you finally going to tell me where we’re going?”

“I already told you,” Bitty hedges. “We’re going to go get dinner.”

“Yes,” Jack allows, “but you didn’t tell me where.”

“Right here,” Bitty says, stopping in front of a nondescript brick building with large windows. He jerks his head towards the door. “Have you ever had Korean barbecue before?”

Jack shakes his head, smiling. “There are a bunch of Korean restaurants around Cambridge, but I never got around to trying them.”

Bitty grins triumphantly. “Then I guess today’s your lucky day.”

Despite its unassuming facade, the place is packed, and they’re immediately greeted by the sounds and smell of grilled meat. Bitty watches Jack take in the simple interiors of the place, the table grills with tube vents and the wooden chairs and tables, as they follow the hostess to a booth in the corner. If he’s apprehensive at all, it doesn’t show.

Bitty slides in after Jack on the same side of the booth, bumping shoulders with him. Jack bumps him back, looking surprised but pleased.

Bitty laughs at Jack’s expression. “It’s easier this way. You’ll see.”

A waiter approaches their table and greets them, immediately setting down several small plates of food, a basket of lettuce, and a small plastic jug of water on their table. He’s turning a few knobs on the side of the table to turn on the grill when Jack gestures to stop him.

“Oh, no, we haven’t ordered anything yet,” Jack says to the waiter, who just laughs good-naturedly.

“It’s all good man, all the tables get side dishes,” he reassures Jack, before turning to Bitty and handing him a menu. “First time, huh?”

Bitty grins. “For him, yeah. Don’t worry, I’ll brief him.”

“Great,” the waiter says, giving them a thumbs up. “You can hit the buzzer when you guys are ready to order.”

Bitty thanks him before he turns to Jack, who looks a little overwhelmed. “You okay?”

Jack quirks his eyebrows in affirmation, smiling. “Yup. Though you’re really going to have to walk me through all this,” he says, gesturing to their table, which is suddenly full of food.

Bitty laughs. “Okay, so at any Korean restaurant, they’ll always serve these little side dishes that you can eat with whatever you order,” he explains, gesturing to the little plates. “It’s usually pickled vegetables like kimchi, onions, that kind of thing, and then here they also have scallion pancakes, fishcake, and potatoes. That’s steamed egg over there,” he points to a black clay pot in the corner, “and this is a bean paste soup.” He points to Jack’s end of the table. “Hand me a pair of chopsticks, will you?”

Jack nods, passing Bitty the chopsticks dutifully. He leans over the table to examine the spread of food in front of him, looking excited. “And we can just start eating? Like right now?”

Bitty tamps down a giggle at Jack’s sudden enthusiasm. “Yes, sweetheart, we can start eating,” he says, clicking his chopsticks for emphasis.

“Awesome,” Jack says, grinning. “Which of these is your favorite?”

“This one.” Bitty nabs a slice of the scallion pancake and holds it up to Jack’s mouth. Jack smiles at him before eating it, his eyes widening in surprise.

“Wow,” he says, mouth still full. “That’s really good.”

Bitty laughs, shaking his head. “I honestly can’t believe you’ve never had Korean barbecue,” he says. “You own several different restaurant chains. Weren’t you looking to expand to South Korea?”

“Bits, none of our brands are Korean, or even Asian,” Jack says, reaching for another slice of pancake. “It kind of feels wrong to open a restaurant like that when I’m not really part of the culture, you know?”

“Fair,” Bitty allows, moving the small plate closer to Jack. “Doesn’t mean you can’t enjoy their food sometimes, though.” He eats a bit of kimchi for emphasis.

“Okay, fair,” Jack parrots, shaking his head. “Thank you for bringing me here.” The smile he gives Bitty is so utterly sincere, it makes Bitty’s breath catch a little.

“Oh, don’t thank me yet,” Bitty says, hitting the little button on their table. “You haven’t even tried the best part!”

The waiter from earlier—Jeff, his name tag reads— returns with a smile. “Ready to order?”

Bitty orders the first round for the both of them, and Jeff quickly returns with two plates of thinly sliced raw beef. “Do you guys need any help, or?”

“We’re good, thanks!” Bitty says brightly, and Jeff nods at him before moving down to the next table.

“So this is brisket, and that one is short ribs,” Bitty tells Jack as he starts arranging the meat on the grill. “I picked the brisket first because it cooks really quickly, so we can start eating soon!”

“So we just… cook the meat ourselves?” Jack asks, watching carefully as Bitty turns the meat on the grill.

“Yup,” Bitty affirms. “It’s basically like steak, but more fun because it’s DIY and you get all this extra free stuff,” he says, waggling his eyebrows and making Jack laugh. “Not gonna lie, I first thought that you might like this place because of how you keep telling me that I should eat more protein.”

Jack laughs at that. “You should. Protein is good for you.”

“And here I am taking your advice. Here,” Bitty says, setting a piece of beef on Jack’s plate. “You can eat that on its own, their cuts here are really high quality, but I like to make a little wrap with the lettuce and some of this dipping sauce.” He demonstrates how to assemble it, and Jack copies him on his own plate.

“Cheers,” Jack says playfully, holding the wrap up.

Bitty shakes his head fondly but touches his wrap with Jack’s before shoving the whole thing in his mouth. Jack does the same, and Bitty has to keep himself from laughing at how ridiculously adorable it is to see Jack Zimmermann’s cheeks puff from stuffing his face with a lettuce wrap. Jack lets out a surprised noise, his mouth still comically full, and he nods excitedly at Bitty as he chews.

“Oh my god, I’m so glad you like it,” Bitty breathes, letting out a relieved chuckle. “Here, help yourself!” He places a few more slices of cooked beef on Jack’s plate before he lays out a new batch on the grill, flipping them as they cook. “You should try the wrap with some kimchi! I know you like spicy food—” 

“Bits,” Jack intones, grabbing the tongs from Bitty in one swift move. “You’re doing it again.”

Bitty frowns at Jack. “Doing what?”

“Being assistant-y.” Jack huffs a laugh. “Let me cook, eh? You’re hogging all the fun.” He clicks the metal tongs in Bitty’s face pointedly, making him laugh.

“Ugh, fine,” Bitty sighs. He slumps his shoulders, exaggerating his disappointment, but he can’t really help the way his expression keeps slipping into a smile. He sets himself up with a new wrap, glancing at what Jack’s doing on the grill. “You’re only going to want to flip it once so the meat doesn’t dry out,” he comments, reaching for some lettuce.

“Oui, chef,” Jack says, winking at Bitty as he places a few pieces of meat on his plate. 

They settle into a comfortable rhythm of sorts, passing the tongs back and forth and taking turns with cooking as they stuff themselves with some really good beef. Bitty chirps Jack about letting a few pieces of meat get burned, and Jack ribs Bitty about his alleged “grill tyranny”, which somehow turns into a not-so-friendly competition about who can come up with the best tasting ssam. (Bitty wins, of course, after Jack begrudgingly admits that the steamed egg and kimchi combination is actually really good.) Bitty lets Jack order the next round and is not surprised at all that Jack decides to go with chicken. Bitty also orders some pork belly for more variety, and since both of those take slightly longer to cook than the beef, Bitty puts his chopsticks down for a bit and turns to Jack.

“So, how was your day?” he asks, because he’d really been meaning to ask all night. 

Jack sets the tongs down on his plate, shifting slightly to look at Bitty properly with a relaxed smile on his face. “It was good. I went on a long run, which was probably for the best because I had no idea we were going to be eating so much tonight. Though I should have known, really,” he says, grabbing Bitty’s hand to play with his fingers. “And then I Skyped with my parents. My dad’s been asking about you.”

Bitty squeaks. “Your dad?”

Jack nods, rolling his eyes fondly. “Yeah, he keeps asking when he’s allowed to come down and meet my boyfriend. Like he hasn’t already met you several times,” he snorts.

Bitty’s too busy gaping at Jack to laugh with him. His brain immediately fixated on a single word and apparently won’t let go. “Boyfriend?” he asks, blinking at him.

“I... Yes?” Jack says, sounding unsure, before his expression shifts into a horrified one. “Is that—Oh, God, I should have asked you first—”

“No!” Bitty shakes his head, gripping Jack’s hand tightly. “No, I… You really want us to be boyfriends?”

Jack’s expression softens immediately. “Of course, Bits. I mean, I thought—” 

“Oh my goodness,” Bitty says, realizing something. “I haven’t even told my mother!”

Jack laughs nervously, shaking his head. “You don’t have to tell your mom, if you’re not comfortable—”

“No, I—Jack!” Bitty says, facing him bodily. “I didn’t even—You want to be boyfriends? With me? You want _me_ to be your boyfriend?” he repeats, sounding a little desperate. He knows he’s incredibly behind on this conversation, but he just can’t seem to wrap his head around the fact that Jack has been talking to his dad about him. As his boyfriend. 

Jack laughs again, apparently taking pity on him and reaching up to cup his face. “Bits. Look at me.” Bitty meets his eyes hesitantly, and finds that Jack’s looking at him so steadily, a gentle smile playing at his lips. “I want this. I want to be with you. God, I’m not sure if I’ve wanted anything more in my life.” He huffs a laugh, and Bitty’s heart thunders in his chest as Jack runs a thumb gently over Bitty’s cheek. “I’d really appreciate it if you believe me when I say that.”

Bitty’s at a loss for words for this beautiful, kind, thoughtful man in front of him, so he does the only thing his brain is able to tell him to do, which is to press forward to kiss Jack, a sweet lingering thing that he hopes conveys every emotion that’s threatening to spill out of him. “Okay,” he whispers when they pull away. “I believe you.”

Jack’s answering smile is radiant. “Good,” he says, leaning in to press a quick peck to Bitty’s lips before turning back to the grill and noticing the smoke. “The chicken!” Jack immediately moves to flip it, revealing that the chicken is only slightly burned but definitely salvageable. 

Bitty laughs, patting Jack on the thigh. “It’s fine, honey, the chicken takes a while to cook. Let’s go back to that part where Bad Bob Zimmermann wants to meet your boyfriend.”

Jack sticks his tongue out at Bitty, which is something Bitty never thought he’d ever see Jack do, but apparently, this is his life now. “Oh, I’m not sure I have one, actually,” he teases.

Bitty smacks him in the arm, rolling his eyes. “Chirp, chirp, Mr. Zimmermann.”

Jack laughs, shaking his head. “You don’t understand, Bits. He got inordinately excited about the whole thing. It’s terrifying.”

“I still can’t believe you talk to your parents about me.” Bitty sighs happily as he flips a few pieces of pork on the grill. “I guess I better tell my mama, too. She’s been nagging me to get on the phone with her for a few days now, actually.”

Jack playfully knocks his knee into Bitty’s. “You’re really close with your parents, too, huh?”

“Yeah. My Mama’s like my best friend,” Bitty replies, knocking back. “We went through a real rough patch when I came out, though. I think deep down, they _had_ to know, but I don’t think they really prepared themselves for the day when I finally told them? Like, Mama cried but she felt kind of betrayed that I kept it from her and she couldn’t really understand why I had to do that, and then Coach… Bless his heart, it was radio silence from him for a few days after, but he eventually came around.” He shrugs, putting a few pieces of pork on Jack’s plate. It’s been a few years, so Bitty’s mostly forgiven them, but there’s still a pang of—pain? regret?—that he feels whenever he thinks about that time.

Jack raises an eyebrow. “Coach?”

“My dad. He’s a football coach, so everyone just calls him Coach,” Bitty explains. “I think he thought I ‘got over it’ when I switched from figure skating to hockey, but honestly, Samwell was the first place where I could really be myself, you know? And then I got so used to not having to pretend, I just came home one summer and told them outright.”

Jack smiles at him. “Wow, that’s… incredible, Bits. I’m glad you guys are good now.” 

Bitty smiles back. “Yeah. Me, too.”

Jack tells Bitty about how he eventually came out to his parents when he was in the Q as he demolishes their order of chicken and pork, and Bitty doesn’t have a hard time imagining Bob and Alicia Zimmermann making a big deal out of making sure Jack feels accepted and comfortable with his sexuality. They order one last plate of beef to share, because Bitty reminds him to save space for the dessert he’s got waiting at Jack’s house. They trade stories about their childhoods as they finish their food, and Bitty shares stories about living in a small Southern town as a kid as he gains a little more insight into what it was like to grow up as the son of two celebrities in a completely different country. Before either of them know it, they’re laughing over how their plate of beef is suddenly empty, and Bitty sneakily slips Jeff his card before Jack even has the chance to argue.

Later, as they’re walking hand-in-hand back to the bus stop, Jack nudges Bitty. “What’s next?”

“Well, now it’s time for dessert. We just need to—Oh my goodness!” Bitty notices something on his left, right outside of a random family restaurant, and he immediately lights up. “A claw machine!” He excitedly tugs Jack over to inspect the brightly-colored machine, which, honestly, looks really out of place on this busy street. This wasn’t in Bitty’s plan at all but...it’s calling him. Bitty can’t resist. “Can I play? Just one round?”

“Uh, sure?” Jack’s expression is a cross between confused and amused, frowning a bit even though he’s smiling. Regardless, he follows Bitty to the machine without any arguments.

Bitty grins up at him, pulling out a couple quarters from his pocket. “I used to be really good at these,” he says, gloating just a little bit. “Got an army of stuffed animals back home to prove it.” There had been one summer when Bitty was in high school that he’d hyperfixated on the claw machines that lined the rec center where they used to have hockey practice. His teammates chirped him about it until they realized the full potential of knowing someone who just couldn’t lose at claw machines. It had become both a minor party trick and a mild obsession of sorts. 

“Is that so?” Jack grins, leaning against the machine to watch as Bitty drops the quarters in.

“Ssh,” Bitty says, poking his tongue out in concentration as the machine starts playing some jaunty tune. He positions the crane to grab the penguin that sticks out in the middle of the pile, and after a few adjustments, hits the red button. The claw lowers directly on top of the penguin but ultimately closes on air. Bitty lets out a groan, thunking his head lightly on the glass.

Jack lets out a low whistle. “Maybe you’re just a bit out of practice, bud,” he says, smiling and jostling him a little. “Here, try again.” He holds out two more quarters, which Bitty takes with a sigh.

“This is so stupid,” he says, sliding the coins into the slot. The machine starts up again, and Bitty chooses to go for a different one this time: a white bunny in the corner. He lines the crane up, checking on the other sides of the glass to see if it’s aligned, before hitting the button. “Hah! This one’s mine.” He feels more than sees Jack lean in next to him in anticipation, and he holds his breath until he gets…nothing. Again. “UGH!” To his left, Jack lets out a soft noise of disappointment. He slaps a hand down on the machine. “This is so annoying!”

When he looks over at Jack, he’s frowning at the machine like he’s studying it. “Can I try?” he says, not even glancing at Bitty.

Bitty quirks an eyebrow curiously at Jack’s sudden interest, but steps aside to let him play. “Have at it,” he says, gesturing to the machine. 

Jack sets up the machine quickly, his game face on. “Which one do you want, Bittle?” Bitty points to the far bunny, tapping the class, and Jack narrows his eyes. “ _Ah, le lapin,_ ” he says in a tone far too serious for the occasion, making Bitty giggle. He positions the crane over said bunny, and this time the crane picks it up a few inches before it falls back into the pile. They both groan loudly.

“Again,” Jack says, not to be deterred, and Bitty snickers as he quickly deposits more coins into the slot. Jack takes his time fiddling with the joystick, walking around the machine and checking from all angles before hitting the button, but to no avail. Bitty watches in amusement as Jack grumbles to himself, starting over and over and simply refusing to let the machine win, until he decides that Jack has spent an excessive amount of time and money trying to win a stupid stuffed toy.

“Aw, it’s okay, sweetpea,” Bitty says, patting Jack on the arm, trying to tamp down his laughter at how insanely—and predictably—stubborn he’s become. “We’ll try again some other time, okay?”

“No, no, just one more game, Bittle,” Jack insists, and Bitty sighs, watching as he targets a different rabbit, his brows furrowed deeply in concentration.

No dice. 

Jack glares at the machine like it had personally offended him. Bitty’s about to console him and coax him away when he sees Jack start pulling his wallet out of his back pocket stiffly. “Okay, fuck this. How much is the machine?”

“WHAT?” Bitty shrieks in surprise, bursting into a fit of giggles. “You can’t just _buy the machine!_ ”

“Yes, I can,” Jack says, frowning down at him. “I’ll just go inside and ask—”

“No!” Bitty grabs Jack’s hand, pulling him back just slightly because his laughing is making him weak. “Jack, oh my god, this is ridiculous! Come on, let’s go!” He starts steering him away from the machine, laughing the whole time. Thankfully, Jack lets himself be steered, but not without glancing back at the machine like he’s developed some kind of personal vendetta.

  
  
  


After one bus ride that Jack spends grumbling about that stupid machine and Bitty spends trying to convince Jack that it’s really not a big deal, they finally arrive back at Jack’s house. Bitty leads Jack straight into the kitchen, ordering him to sit by the counter as he pulls out his phone.

“What’s happening now?” Jack asks curiously, resting his elbows on the counter. Most of his frustration had seeped out of him on the bus, leaving his features open and relaxed.

“We’re having dessert,” Bitty declares, sliding his unlocked phone over to Jack before heading to the fridge.

“Okay, and what am I looking at?” says Jack, squinting down at the screen in front of him.

Bitty pulls out the three containers he’d brought earlier, setting them down on the counter. “That, sir, is an itemized list of everything I’ve ever made for you with a corresponding rating based on your reactions. I figured, since you finally admitted you do like sweets, I could see if I was right about what you liked.”

Jack scrolls quietly through the sheet. “You’ve been doing this the whole time even though you thought I didn’t like sweets?” He looks up at him, his gaze piercing. Bitty nods, ducking his head a little. “Bits, that’s so—this is amazing.”

Bitty smiles bashfully, feeling the full force of his blush. “Why, thank you, Mr. Zimmermann. I just thought it might come in handy. Which it did, eventually.” Bitty raises his eyebrows meaningfully. 

Jack chuckles. “So these are the top three, I take it?” he says, trying to peer into the plastic containers.

“Mhmm! Well, actually, top two. One of them’s new,” Bitty says. “Why don’t you go ahead and open ‘em? See what you like?”

“I’m sure I’ll like all of them,” Jack says, pulling open the leftmost container to reveal four perfect mini-pies. He leans down and sniffs at them. “Are these apple?”

Bitty nods, pleased that he could recognize it from smell. “Maple sugar crusted.”

“Oh yeah, I remember when you made this!” Jack beams at him. “You made fun of me for being so Canadian, but they really were so good.”

“Sweetpea, you are _so_ Canadian,” Bitty says, shrugging. “This is exhibit A. You should open the next one, that’s exhibit B.”

Jack quickly uncovers the second Tupperware to find—”Nanaimo bars?” This time, he actually picks one up to inspect, grinning.

“It was the most excited I’d ever seen you after offering you something.” Bitty remembers that day clearly because of how out of character it was for Jack to actually hum in approval when he brought a few bars into his office.

“My mémé used to make them all the time when I was a kid,” Jack explains, sounding a little defensive as he brings the treat to his mouth. “Can I…?”

“Of course! I made those for you.” Bitty laughs as Jack quickly takes a huge bite. “But I think you’re going to want to check out the last thing before you stuff yourself with those.”

Jack peers into the last container, still chewing on his Nanaimo bar. “This is the new guy?”

“Uh-huh.” Bitty rounds the counter, taking a seat on the stool next to Jack.

Jack opens the container and immediately shoots Bitty a questioning look. “These are… Reese’s peanut butter cups?”

Bitty laughs at Jack’s confused face. “You said they were your favorite, so I tried to make some from scratch,” he says. “I used the same recipe for the peanut butter in those PB&J macarons.”

Jack stares at him, his mouth hanging open slightly. “Bits, that is insane.”

“Please try one,” Bitty says, kind of desperate to see if Jack will like it.

Jack gets this mischievous look on his face for a second, and then he’s opening his mouth, looking at Bitty expectantly. “Aaaaa—”

“Oh my god.” Bitty shakes his head, realizing what Jack’s asking him to do. “You’re ridiculous, Mr. Zimmermann,” he comments, but he relents, peeling the wrapper off and holding a peanut butter cup up to Jack’s mouth.

Jack takes a bite slowly, maintaining eye contact with Bitty the whole time, and suddenly the air between them is charged. He hums his approval as he savors the treat, eyes falling shut, and then dives back in for more. Bitty watches raptly as Jack eats the whole thing out of Bitty’s hand, and then when he’s finished, he takes hold of Bitty’s wrist and licks at the melted chocolate on his fingers. Bitty’s not even really breathing anymore, his heart is beating out of his chest, and he’s sure he’s about the color of a tomato right now, but for the life of him, he can’t look away. 

“Bitty,” is all Jack says, his voice low and raspy, before he’s surging in for a searing hot kiss.

Bitty’s brain stutters to a halt, his lips chasing Jack’s out of pure instinct, his hands grasping at Jack’s shirt driven by a sudden carnal need to get rid of all the space between them. Jack slides off of his stool to stand in between Bitty’s legs, ducking down so their kiss doesn’t break, and he rests one hand at Bitty’s waist while the other moves up to cradle the back of Bitty’s head. Bitty licks into Jack’s mouth and tastes dark chocolate, struggles to breathe through his nose and gets a whiff of Jack’s cologne mixed with the lingering scent of grilled meat, and he feels it rumble in his own chest when Jack lets out a groan. He hooks his legs around Jack’s waist, gasping when Jack presses in closer and their bodies align. 

“Fuck,” Jack breathes, smudging kisses along Bitty’s jaw and down his neck. “I can’t believe you—” He pulls at Bitty’s collar, licks a stripe along his collarbone. “You made—” 

“Jack,” is all Bitty manages to choke out, completely overwhelmed by sensation. “Please.”

Jack must hear the desperation in Bitty’s voice, because he stares up at Bitty, lips red and swollen and looking absolutely wrecked, before pressing in quickly, lips and teeth and tongue. Bitty can feel Jack smile into the kiss, which makes him completely unprepared for Jack’s hands, strong and sure, making their way down to his ass. He yelps a little when he feels them grip the back of his thighs and lift him right off the stool. _Jack is literally carrying him out of the kitchen._ Bitty thinks he’s going to pass out from how turned on he is.

“These fucking jeans,” Jack gripes, digging his fingers into Bitty’s ass a little as he hikes him up on his waist. “You’ve been driving me crazy all night, Bittle. Hell, you've been driving me crazy _all week_.”

“Are you kidding me right now,” Bitty says, nipping at the cord of muscle that connects Jack’s neck and shoulder. “Do you know how fucking good you looked all night? Linen pants, _Jesus Christ_.”

Jack hums, shouldering open the door to his bedroom. “Maybe you can show me, eh?” he teases, unceremoniously dumping Bitty onto his bed. 

Bitty immediately reaches out undo the buttons of Jack’s shirt, and he stares unabashedly when Jack pulls his shirt off to reveal a perfect set of abs, the very same ones Bitty tried so hard not to ogle at just last weekend. What even is his life. “Fuck me,” Bitty whispers, mostly to himself, falling back down to the bed.

Jack gives him a smirk that is entirely too sexy for Bitty to handle right now. “That’s the idea, bud.”

Oh, shit. Bitty’s not going to survive. 

  
  
  


Bitty doesn’t know what he expected, but Jack had never struck him as the cuddly type. Not that he ever thought he’d get to test that theory.

He’s never been so happy to be proven wrong, on both accounts.

Jack’s legs are tangled with Bitty’s and his arm is resting around Bitty’s shoulders as they watch Beyoncé’s _Homecoming_ (Bitty had insisted, and Jack didn’t put up a fight) on the freakishly large television set in his bedroom. Bitty’s cheek rests comfortably on Jack’s chest, gently tracing circles on his stomach.

When he started out at this job, he was sure that Jack had hated him. And then he got better, and then he thought Jack actually liked him most days. And then he’d gradually let his guard down as Jack became kinder, softer, more open, until their relationship had morphed into a comfortable companionship, Jack becoming a constant presence in Bitty’s life. When he started out at this job, he’d never imagined he could fall in love with his hard-ass boss, and here, nestled in Jack’s embrace, he can’t quite believe he gets to have this.

He looks up at Jack and finds him smiling back at him, his expression impossibly soft, like he can’t quite believe it either.

And isn’t that a revelation?

Bitty lifts his chin slightly and Jack meets him in a soft kiss. “Did you have fun tonight?” he asks quietly, holding Jack’s gaze. “I was kind of nervous that you wouldn’t have fun.”

Jack scoffs. “Did I have fun,” he mocks. "Come on, we had a great meal, some really good dessert, and now Beyoncé, too?" His tone is chirping, but he smiles down at Bitty, brushing a few stray curls of hair out of his eyes before pressing a soft kiss to his temple. “Best date ever, Bits. Thank you.”

Bitty sighs happily, nuzzling further into Jack’s chest.

Yup. Best date ever.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> IT HAD TO BE KBBQ AS A NOD TO WWWSK. COME ON. But apparently there aren’t very many KBBQ places in Providence, which is a travesty, so I just made one up. I did spend an inordinate time looking at KBBQ places to see if the interiors were similar to what we have here, and also because I now have this insane craving that I won’t be able to satisfy until this quarantine is finally over. A tragedy.
> 
> Also?? IM DYING TO TRY A NANAIMO BAR. LIKE JUST TRULY DESPERATE. IVE NEVER HEARD OF THEM BEFORE THIS FANDOM AND NOW I CANT STOP THINKING ABOUT THEM
> 
> THANKS AGAIN FOR READING, I SUPER DUPER APPRECIATE ALL OF YOUUU 💛 Last two chapters, y'all!! We're so close to wrapping this up and I can't believe how fast it's gone by!!


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **CW for descriptions of a panic attack!** If you’d rather skip, you can stop reading at “Despite his certainty that Chowder would be a great assistant...” and pick up at “He uses his last bit of energy…” ☺️

After his spectacular date with Bitty, it feels like someone suddenly decides to hit the fast forward button on Jack’s life.

The acquisition they had been working on for the past few months, a mom-and-pop restaurant from Texas that has become an extremely popular chain in the last two years, suddenly starts gaining momentum. He spends half his days in meetings, trying to hammer out the details and negotiating the contract terms, and the other half desperately trying to get Bitty alone, in his own house, in Bitty’s apartment, in cafes and restaurants and supermarkets (when Bitty runs out of butter). He works more than he has in months, but it’s this kind of grind that really gets Jack going—he’s absolutely in his element, and the fact that they’re able to seal the deal by the end of the week is a testament to that.

His parents decide to drop in for a weekend, and Bitty is invited to their family dinner. (Jack actively tries to ignore how the idea of Bitty as family makes his chest feel tight in the best possible way.) Bitty is a bundle of nerves the whole day, but he’s as charismatic as ever and his parents adore him instantly. Jack gets embarrassed quite a number of times (including one moment when he came back from the bathroom to find his traitorous mother and his boyfriend cooing over his baby pictures), but it’s more than worth it to see how Bitty’s eyes light up in amusement, even if it’s at his expense.

After dinner, Bob catches Jack staring at Bitty and Alicia in the kitchen, where they’re dishing out slices of Bitty’s famous peach pie. He roughly elbows him in the side, and Jack grunts at the sudden intrusion.

“Ow,” he complains, elbowing back. “What was that for?”

Bob smiles in amusement, the crow’s feet around his eyes deepening with mirth. “I never thought I’d see the day you’d prefer to watch something other than hockey,” he chirps, gesturing to the TV. “I mean, granted, it’s just reruns, but still.”

It’s such a simple, mundane observation, but Jack can’t even argue with him. He tries to come up with a clever retort, but Bob beats him to it.

“I know, I’m one to talk, eh?” he says, and Jack looks back to find his dad’s loving gaze following his mom’s every move. His dad looks back at him with a knowing grin, and Jack can’t help but smile back—maybe there _are_ ways he can be compared to his father that don’t send his anxiety spiraling after all.

He spends the rest of that night with Bitty comfortably nestled into his chest, pleasantly buzzed from the two glasses of wine and warm from their proximity, and he makes sure to take advantage of this by pressing gentle kisses to Bitty’s hair whenever he pleases. Tomorrow, his parents fly back to Montreal and he and Bitty have to get back to work, but for now, he has this, and it’s more than enough.

He’s never been happier. He just wishes everything could slow down.

  
  
  


It’s Monday, and with the pressure of the acquisition finally lifted, Jack finds his morning oddly vacant. He’s already looked through the various documents Bitty had put on his desk for review, and upon checking, there are no relevant emails in his inbox that need his response. It’s not even ten o’clock. He struggles to find something to do, until he realizes this is probably the first real break he’s gotten since last week. It’s not completely unusual for him to get lulls in his schedule like this, but it has been a while since it’s happened, so Jack decides it should be okay to get up from his chair, stretch a bit, and enjoy the spectacular view from his 20th floor office.

At first, he found it absurd that his father (then the active CEO) had an office this huge when he spent most of his time in meetings anyway, but now he thinks he gets it—running a company is a stressful job, and he can only imagine how his stress could be magnified if he had to be crammed into a tiny room. Jack’s come to associate the largeness of his office with having room to breathe in an incredibly hectic lifestyle, and it helps that it also has the advantage of floor-to-ceiling windows that provide a sweeping view of the Providence skyline to let him realize how small and inconsequential things can be whenever he feels overwhelmed.

There used to be another feeling, gloomier and much less comforting, that lingered in this office for a while, especially when he was new to the position. After all, being isolated in a large room does have the tendency to make one feel a bit lonely. Jack had to work his way up to being CEO, and he started out in an open office that he shared with other people until he got his own space, but one that was still in close proximity with his colleagues. Now his office is an entire hallway away from his team’s, and the distance had initially felt insurmountable. Thankfully, his team is composed of a bunch of very friendly (and _nosy, yes, I’m looking at you, Birkholtz and Oluransi_ ) officers who were all too eager to take advantage of the company’s open door policy, and of course, there’s the steady and reliable presence of Bitty right outside his door. He starts trying to envision a world without the staff he has now—he imagines loneliness would still permeate the room if that were the case. He shakes his head to dispel that train of thought before it gets too dark.

“Knock knock,” Bitty sing-songs from where he’s leaning against the door frame, interrupting Jack’s impromptu introspection. He looks slightly amused to find Jack staring out the huge glass windows of his office. “Am I interrupting something?”

Jack turns around to face him and shakes his head. “Just thinking.”

Bitty hums as he crosses the room in purposeful strides, stopping right by Jack’s desk. “What about?”

“Just… you know. Stuff.” He waves a hand around the room vaguely, shooting Bitty a sheepish smile.

The corner of Bitty’s mouth turns upward, but he nods seriously. “Ah, yes, _stuff_. Very important.”

Jack barks a laugh. “Chirp, chirp, Bittle,” he says dryly, reaching a hand out to lace their fingers together. “Did I forget something? Is there somewhere we need to be?”

“Oh, no, no,” Bitty says, shaking his head. “I, um…” His eyes flick over the paperwork on Jack’s desk before returning to his face. Jack suddenly notices the line of tension in Bitty’s posture. “I was going to ask for a favor, actually.”

It wasn’t what Jack was expecting, but he nods and steps closer into Bitty’s space. “Anything, bud.”

Bitty bites his lip, fingers nervously tapping on the glass surface of his desk, but his eyes eventually turn upwards to Jack. “I… Could you look over my business plan? For my bakery? It’s mostly drawn up and everything since, I mean, next week I won’t be...” He trails off, looking down at where their hands are joined.

Jack is momentarily floored by the realization that this is effectively Bitty’s last week as his assistant, and he stares wordlessly at Bitty for a few seconds, his brain desperately trying to catch up.

Bitty must take this as a bad sign because he starts babbling nervously. “I mean, of course, you don’t have to, I of all people know how incredibly busy you are, and actually it was really dumb of me to expect—”

“No,” Jack finally manages, squeezing Bitty’s hand comfortingly. “Of course I’ll take a look at it.”

Bitty lights up immediately. “You will?”

“Yes.” Jack lifts Bitty’s fingers to press a kiss to his knuckles for emphasis.

Bitty’s answering grin is nothing short of dazzling. “Thank you, Mr. Zimmermann.”

Jack rolls his eyes at the name as he finally gives in to the urge to pull Bitty closer until his hands rest on Bitty’s hips. “What are your plans for tonight?” he asks, thankful (read: desperate) for the opportunity to change the subject.

Bitty arches an eyebrow at Jack, fingers tracing the lines of Jack’s shirt pocket. “Depends on what your plans are.”

Jack chuckles quietly at Bitty’s quick wit before a small wave of anxiety washes over him.

It tells him: not for long.

  
  
  
  


On Thursday, his team ambushes him in his office while Bitty’s off doing his weekly departmental rounds with Chowder. He’d been staring blankly at the blinking cursor on his Bitty’s business plan for a long time. It’s a good one, as far as business plans go—just from the Executive Summary (which is as far as he’d allowed himself to go), he can tell that it’s well-researched and very feasible, but he doesn’t know why he’s afraid to write a single word, even just as a comment.

(Okay, maybe it’s because he keeps getting the absurd thought that doing so will essentially put Bitty one step closer to leaving him. Which is dumb, because Bitty’s leaving anyway, whether or not he leaves any annotations on his business plan.)

Either way, his team seems to be completely oblivious to his internal struggle.

“Hey, boss!” Holster’s booming voice echoes in his quiet office. Ransom and Lardo follow right behind him. “You got a second?”

Jack sighs, for once grateful for the distraction. “What’s up?” He waves them over to sit.

“This’ll just be really quick,” Ransom says. He and Holster sink into the chairs across him, Lardo opting to perch on one of Holster’s armrests. Ransom clears his throat. “So you know how it’s Bitty’s last week?”

Jack winces internally, but nods. “Go on.”

“We were planning to surprise him after the rink launch on Sunday, since that will technically be his actual last day at work,” Lardo explains. “We just wanted to see if you would be down to help.”

Jack’s honestly slightly upset he didn’t think of it first, but of course it’s a great idea. Bitty deserves it, after all—it’s really the least they can do. He tells them as much, and they all nod in agreement. “What did you have in mind?” he asks.

“We’d already called in and asked if we could reserve one of the function rooms at Faber for a little party, and Murray said to ask you but we were sure you were going to say yes,” Lardo pauses for his confirmation, and Jack waves his assent, “so we’d already gone ahead and planned that.”

“But we also wanted to pitch in for something for his new shop,” Ransom continues seamlessly. “We were wondering if you would be willing to help us with that, since, y’know.”

Holster coughs. “You’re fucking loaded.”

Jack laughs at their straightforwardness. Really, he shouldn’t have expected anything less. “Sure, guys. What were you thinking?”

The three of them share a look of solidarity before Holster speaks up. “An oven.”

Jack’s eyebrows lift curiously, but Ransom is quick to explain. “We ran the numbers, and with everything Bitty’s baked for us over the years, Excel actually says we owe him, like, three ovens.”

“It would be a good thing to send him off with,” Lardo says, her expression all business. “We’ve got a bit of money pooled, enough to afford just a regular oven, but with a little bit more, we can get him a professional one, the kind that they have on reality shows and stuff. We went and talked to Purchasing to see how we could go about getting either, and they said they could get that ready for us since Sunday is so soon.”

Jack leans forward, thoroughly impressed by their initiative. He rests his forearms on his desk and clasps his hands together. “How much are we talking?”

Ransom grimaces slightly. “Okay… so it’s maybe not just a little bit.”

Jack cracks a smile at that. He doesn’t really need to be convinced of anything—he’s pretty sure he’ll shell out however much they need, just to have an excuse to spoil Bitty—but he appreciates their attempt at modesty. “No worries. I’ll take care of it.”

“‘Swawesome!” Ransom and Holster shout in unison, and the three of them simultaneously bump fists.

Bitty chooses that exact moment to let himself into the office, stopping short when he registers his co-workers inside. “Oh!” he says, his brows lifting in surprise. “What’s going on in here?”

“Just running some stats,” Lardo says, impossibly cool, as she straightens up. “These two idiots decided they needed some backup given that the numbers they just presented are… less than ideal.” She wrinkles her nose distastefully. Jack leans back into his chair, quietly impressed by her nonchalance.

Ransom and Holster both make noises of protest as they get up. “Hey!” Ransom squawks indignantly. “It’s not _our_ fault they’re bad, we just compile the numbers!” 

Bitty rolls his eyes, seemingly convinced by their (okay, admittedly convincing) charade. “Whatever. Are you guys finished or you need a minute?”

“Nope, all done,” Holster says, winking at Bitty. “We’ll leave you guys to it!”

“Remember, the glass fogs!” Ransom reminds them both, eyebrows waggling, as the three of them make a hasty exit, but not before Ransom and Holster stop by the window to make kissy faces at them.

This time Jack rolls his eyes and flips the switch to render the glass opaque, mostly to spite them. “What’s up?” he asks Bitty, who’s now approached his desk.

“Just delivering these,” Bitty says brightly, handing over a few folders. “Apparently Purchasing needs you to sign off on some new equipment? Not really sure why they need your signature, but Aiden insisted, so.” He lifts one shoulder in a shrug.

Jack resists the urge to smirk at the timing—those three work fast. “Thanks,” he tells Bitty, letting his fingers linger where they cover Bitty’s as he accepts the folders.

Jack watches as Bitty gives him a saucy wink before leaving. He settles back in his chair and wakes his computer.

The business plan blinks back at him, still completely untouched, and Jack idly scrolls back and forth, waiting for something to catch his attention—and then something does.

He skims through the section that caught his eye ( _Section 2.3_ , it reads, _Locations and Facilities_ ); it details a few spots across town, no doubt chosen for their affordability rather than competitive advantage, and Bitty’s criteria for an ideal space. Reading it pulls up an image in Jack’s mind, so abrupt and so clear, that he’s reaching for his phone and opening up his contact list before he realizes what he’s doing.

For all his denial about Bitty leaving, his team had sparked something in Jack, a sudden interest in finding his own way—his own initiative—to send Bitty off properly, like he so deserves. He should really be supportive of Bitty’s new venture, not sulking about his inevitable resignation. And he just found the perfect thing.

Bob answers the phone almost immediately. “Jack? Is everything okay?”

Hearing his dad’s voice calms Jack slightly, even though there’s an energy that’s thrumming inside him now, so similar to how he usually feels when he discovers a new project. “Yes, yes, but I need your help,” he rushes. “Or permission, maybe.”

Bob must sense the urgency in his tone, because he lets out a deep chuckle. “What can I do?”

  
  
  


Friday arrives before Jack is ready, but he makes a valiant effort not to treat it like any other day. Anyway, it technically isn’t even Bitty’s last day yet, since he’s basically the man in charge of Sunday’s big opening event. It is definitely his last day at the office, though, and his last day coming over to Jack’s house in the morning and picking out his clothes—the last day an assistant will ever do so for Jack, after he realized how absurd and also intimate that particular routine was. He could never do any of this stuff with anyone other than Bitty without it being weird.

For his part, Bitty seems entirely centered that morning, greeting Jack with his cheery smile, a cup of coffee that has Bitty’s name scribbled on it, and a kiss that sets off sparks in Jack’s scalp. He breezes through the day’s activities when Jack asks: two meetings in the morning, then lunch with Bitty (Bitty’s choice, Jack still has no idea where), and then another string of meetings in the afternoon. Jack’s dismayed that he’s apparently booked today of all days, but he nods dutifully anyway.

“Oh!” Bitty says, looking up from the calendar on his phone, “I meant to ask you, would it be okay if I went over to Faber this afternoon to finalize a few things for Sunday? I’ll be back before 5, of course, but Sim—I mean, Murray requested to meet.”

Jack narrows his eyes slightly at Bitty’s slip (Sim? Who is Sim?), which is good, because it distracts him from the way his stomach drops at the idea that he’ll get even less of Bitty today. He’s tempted to ask after the opening, especially since Bitty’s been cagey about any and all details about it, but he doesn’t think he’s going to get any substantial answers. Instead, he says, “Sure, that should be fine,” resigning himself to a full day of meetings.

The first one of the day is the Huddle, which is what Jack decided to call his weekly round-up with his communications team. They’re all keyed-up today, bouncing off the walls when Jack and Bitty enter the conference room, but they settle down quickly, taking their seats and opening their laptops. Lardo promptly starts her presentation, outlining the agenda, but Jack finds it distracting, how jittery everyone seems to be—Ransom is twirling a pen rapidly between his fingers, Holster’s knee bounces incessantly, occasionally bumping the table, Chowder fiddles with a paperclip from his clipboard, and even Dex and Nursey seem to exchanging looks at an alarming rate.

They miraculously make it through all the presentations in record time, but just as Jack wraps up the meeting, all the lights in the conference room switch off. He stands to get a look out of the window, wondering if the rest of the office experienced a power outage as well. “What—”

He never gets the rest of his question out, because the lights come back on at about the same time music starts blasting out of the system speakers—some techno boy band song Jack doesn’t recognize that starts off with “Bye, bye, bye”?—and suddenly everyone is holding balloons and wearing Frozen party hats. To complete the surprise, Shitty comes in carrying a cake in an unnaturally bright shade of blue with a messaged piped in white frosting. Everyone gathers around him as he presents it to Bitty, kneeling dramatically, and, upon closer inspection, the dedication reads: _WE HOPE YOU FAIL, YOU’RE DEAD TO US NOW._

“Happy last day!” they all shout in unison, and even though Jack was never the target of this surprise, he feels warm from the gesture anyway.

Bitty takes one look at the cake and starts laughing so hard, tears start forming in his eyes. (Or… Could he be actually crying?) “What the heck—I can’t believe y’all! I was going to wait until the end of the day but—oh my god, just give me one second—”

Jack shares a confused frown with the rest of them as Bitty flies out of the room, but he comes back almost instantly, carrying a cake box of his own. He opens the lid to reveal a much more appetizing (and better decorated) chocolate cake that reads, in elegant script: _SORRY FOR YOUR LOSS (IT’S ME, I’M LEAVING!)_

It’s silent for one long moment, but it’s broken by Lardo snorting a laugh at the dedication on Bitty’s cake. This, of course, prompts everyone else to collectively start screaming. Shitty quickly sets the cake down on the table as they gather around Bitty, as close as they can get without ruining the cake.

“HOLY SHIT!”

“What the FUCK?”

“Did Bitty just _out-gag cake_ our gag cake?!”

“WHAT FUCKING FLAVOR IS THAT?”

“Wow, that’s so pretty!” (Bitty smiles at Chowder for that one. “Aw, thanks, honey!”)

And… Jack’s kind of at a loss for words, so he just squeezes Bitty’s shoulder, which earns him a smile, too. He clears his throat to get everyone’s attention, and eventually all the commotion dies down. “Alright, alright! Let’s have some cake, eh?”

The group erupts in cheers, but Shitty holds a hand up. “But first,” he says solemnly, taking the cake from Bitty and placing it next to the other cake. “GROUP HUG!”

Everyone converges into one big mass, and Jack is violently shoved against Bitty’s back, but he can’t say he minds at all. The warm and fuzzy feeling in his chest gets even warmer and fuzzier, and he lets himself fall deeper into the tangle of torsos and faces and arms and legs, sending up a thank you to whatever omnipotent being blessed him with such a crazy, wonderful, thoughtful team.

In all the chaos, Bitty grins up at him, his eyes bright and watery. Jack presses in even closer, presses a kiss to Bitty’s hair. Idly wishes he could live in this moment forever.

  
  
  


The rest of the day passes Jack by in a quick succession of meetings, interrupted solely by Bitty surprising him with his favorite chicken tenders from the fast food chain down the street that they both share in his office for lunch (“For old time’s sake,” Bitty says, causing a bittersweet swoop in Jack’s stomach). Bitty teases him for his childish taste in food (“Really, Mr. Zimmermann, PB&Js and chicken tenders? Are you seven years old?”) and Jack ribs him back about being a food snob (“Too good for you now, eh, Bittle? Just because you’re some bigshot owner now doesn’t mean you can forget your roots!” “I’m from Georgia, you moose! This is from Louisiana—it says right there!”), and it’s all so comfortable and familiar until Bitty’s cheeky expression fades into something wistful when he catches Jack looking out of the glass at Chowder, now occupying Bitty’s desk.

“It’s surreal, isn’t it?” Bitty says, setting his now-empty container of takeout on the coffee table. “It feels like just yesterday you were tearing me a new one for forgetting to tell you about your one o’clock with George.” A smirk tugs on the corner of his lip. “Now you get a new victim.”

“Oh, haha,” Jack says dryly, even though his first instinct is to cringe at how testy he was then. “I’m really sorry about that, Bittle.”

Bitty just scoffs and waves him off. “I deserved it.”

“No,” Jack says automatically. “I—I was under a lot of pressure. Self-inflicted, mostly, but I took it out on you. I’m sorry.” He lays a hand on Bitty’s thigh and is rewarded with Bitty’s hand landing on top of it, squeezing gently.

“I know, sweetpea.” Bitty’s expression softens into fond amusement. “It’s fine, I promise I forgave you a long time ago. I knew it wasn’t personal.”

 _“Crisse, tu es parfait._ _Ne me quitte pas,”_ Jack mutters under his breath.

 _“Je dois le faire, mon cher,”_ Bitty says, not missing a beat.

Jack sighs. “I regret that I forced you to learn French.”

“Well, I certainly don’t.” Bitty shoots him a teasing grin and squeezes his hand again.

Jack shakes his head, pulling Bitty into his side. “How are you feeling?” he asks, because he’s really been wondering all day and they haven’t really gotten the chance to talk.

Bitty lets out a long breath, leaning into Jack. “Honestly?” he says. “I’m so excited.” He leans back abruptly, as if to check Jack’s reaction. “Is that selfish? Am I being a dick?”

Jack frowns down at him. “Why would that make you selfish?”

“Because… Well, it’s kinda sad, right? Last day at work?” Bitty sighs deeply, sinking back into Jack’s chest. “I’m really gonna miss seeing those idiots everyday.”

“But…?”

“But…This is it, Jack.” Jack looks down to find Bitty staring up at him with wide eyes. “This is all I’ve ever worked for. I finally get to make it happen. I’m... excited.”

Jack jostles Bitty a bit to lighten the mood, because he’s not quite ready to address his own feelings at the moment. “So be excited. You’re gonna kill it, Bits. Your business plan is bulletproof.”

Bitty straightens up at the mention of his business plan. “You read it?”

“Uh-huh.”

“And you liked it?”

Jack scoffs. “Bits, if I didn’t know it was yours, I’d be trying to buy the business model off of you. Trust me,” he says, locking eyes with Bitty, “It’s good. It’s really good. You’re going to run me out of business one day.”

Bitty’s cheeks turn pink as a slow grin takes over his face. “Thanks. That—that means so much to me, Jack.”

“Of course,” Jack says loftily, still deflecting. “You learned from the best.”

Bitty lets out an incredulous huff. “And the most humble, clearly,” he chirps, pushing at Jack’s chest.

Jack laughs, pressing a kiss to Bitty’s temple. “I’ll send you back a copy with my annotations,” he tells him.

Bitty pouts up at him. “You said it was perfect!”

“No, I said it was good,” Jack says, brushing his thumb over Bitty’s protruding bottom lip. “Besides, you asked for my comments. Don’t forget I did this for free. Any other person would have made some serious money doing this consulting for you.”

Bitty gives Jack a dopey smile. “Good thing you’re my boyfriend then, huh?” He presses a soft kiss to Jack’s thumb.

Jack eyes him warily, suddenly becoming aware of the heat that’s pooling low in his belly. He makes an executive decision to do something about it and reaches behind Bitty to grab the remote that fogs the glass. “I only did it for the kisses,” he admits, pulling him into his lap. He places one hand on his waist, the other steadfastly resting on his cheek.

Bitty giggles into Jack’s palm. “Jack—”

“Ssh, let me have this, you’re leaving.”

Bitty opens his mouth to protest, but Jack doesn’t allow him another word, surging forward until their mouths meet. He presses in, sweeping his tongue along Bitty’s bottom lip, and Bitty opens up for him readily. Jack becomes hyper aware of Bitty and all the points where their bodies meet—the sweetness of his kiss and the feeling of his hands in his hair. As Bitty moves his kisses to Jack’s jaw, it occurs to him, briefly and deliriously, that this is another perk to having a huge office a hallway away from everyone else. Nothing could possibly interrupt them.

From its place on the coffee table, Bitty’s phone beeps at them urgently. Jack gets the overwhelming urge to chuck it out of the window.

Bitty just laughs, slumping down so that his head rests on Jack’s shoulder. “Well. So much for that fantasy.”

Jack raises an eyebrow, interest thoroughly piqued. “Fantasy?”

Bitty straightens up, fixing his tie and surreptitiously adjusting himself in his slacks. “Fantasy,” he confirms, turning around with a flourish. “Sorry, sweetpea, duty calls.”

Jack lets out a frustrated noise from the back of his throat. “We’re going to talk about this fantasy!” he calls after Bitty.

Bitty hums noncommittally. “Your meeting’s in ten, Mr. Zimmermann.” He leaves him with a teasing wink. 

Jack looks down at his watch to confirm. “Fuck.”

  
  


With Bitty gone for the afternoon, Jack is accompanied by Chowder to the rest of his meetings. It’s the first time since he’d come back from Paris that Chowder takes up the mantle of assistant by himself, without any of Bitty’s herding, which makes it that much more impressive when he greets everyone by name, attentively takes down minutes, and gives valuable suggestion whenever Jack prompts him. He’s not exactly sure how much of it is thanks to Bitty’s training, but in any case, Chowder is a natural—Jack ought to send his former boss a gift basket for being stupid enough to let him go.

There’s just something refreshing about Chowder’s demeanor. Watching him interact with people turns out to be quite amusing; people are always surprised by how enthusiastic he is, but they’re never put off by it—they find it endearing.

(Jack does, too.)

It’s funny: a few years ago, Jack found Bitty’s friendliness irritating—how does he manage to be so nice to everyone? Eventually, he’d been able to identify his annoyance as mere envy, and now… Well, now he can readily admit it’s more of an admiration. It’s the same regard that transfers on to Chowder and his easy way of conversation.

The final meeting of the day ends much earlier than expected—one of the rare times everyone actually came prepared enough that they were able to answer most of Jack’s questions without any further probing—and so Jack suddenly finds himself with an hour of free time as he waits for Bitty to come back.

“You were amazing today, sir!” Chowder gushes excitedly as they walk back to the elevator.

Jack fights the urge to smile, instead opting for a quick nod. Can’t be too forthcoming this early. “You, too, Chowder.”

Chowder directs a bright grin at him. “Thank you! I had a great coach!”

Ah, shit. So much for not smiling. “That you did,” Jack agrees. He lowers his voice to a faux-whisper and says, “Don’t tell Bitty, but you’re already much better than he was three weeks in.”

Chowder gasps loudly. “ _No._ ”

“Oh yeah.”

“But… but Bitty’s so great!”

“Eh, he had a rough start,” Jack chuckles fondly. “You’ve got some big shoes to fill, Chow. You up for the challenge?” He turns to face him when they reach his office.

Chowder raises a hand in a salute. “Sir, yes, sir!”

“Good,” Jack says, checking the time. “Ah—since we’re done for the day, why don’t you clock out early, eh? Get some rest.”

Chowder’s eyes widen. “Oh, no, it’s okay, sir. I can stay!”

“No, no, I insist,” Jack says, waving him off. “Don’t get used to it, though.”

Chowder shakes his head. “Of course not, sir!” He turns to pick up his backpack, but then straightens up again. “Thank you, sir!”

Jack huffs a laugh. “Okay, Chow.”

Chowder calls out another string of thank yous as he brisk-walks away, as if he expects Jack to retract his offer at any second, and then Jack is alone, still lingering by Bitty’s—Chowder’s?—desk.

He surveys it absentmindedly, noticing for the first time how bare it is now. Jack knows that Bitty started packing up earlier that week, but it’s just now that the table is devoid of any personality that he’s really noticing how Bitty had really taken advantage of the space that he occupied—the color-coded sticky notes are gone, and so are the multi-colored highlighters and the small pride flag that stuck out of his pen holder. Even the inexplicable lingering smell of vanilla has faded into the generic diffuser scent they use for the whole office.

There’s one last box of things packed up neatly in the corner; the last physical reminder that Bitty used to work in this place. He walks over to it, standing behind the desk and picking up a few trinkets he recognizes from the last four years: a set of keys with a Samwell keychain, a neon orange coffee mug from the pantry, a hot pink stapler. It’s like someone took all the color that used to inhabit this space and shoved it into a tiny box. The rest of the desk feels empty. Ominous.

Despite his certainty that Chowder would be a great assistant, especially after that afternoon’s trial run of sorts, he still feels a sudden and overwhelming wave of dread wash over him. The single box of things mocks him, and the thing that’s been hanging over his head for the last month finally crashes down on him. He has no choice but to succumb.

Bitty is leaving. There’s no stopping that.

He doesn’t expect it to hit him quite as hard, but then again, he never expects it at all. It feels like he’s suddenly been plunged underwater with how quickly he loses his breath. His head starts pounding with the effort of trying to contain the panic that’s building in his chest, and he’s only barely able to register grasping at the chair before he’s falling into it when standing gets to be too much work. All this while the image of this colorless, lifeless void of a desk swirls around him.

God, this is so dumb. What the fuck is he even doing, freaking out about a stupid desk? Bitty’s the one who’s leaving, he’s the one who’s risking his entire career for his dream, and Jack’s going to be in this same office, with a great new assistant, same team, same routine. Everything is changing for Bitty. Nothing is changing for him.

Except Bitty is leaving. It’s never going to be the same again.

He desperately tries to catch his breath, taking long, uneven drags of air as he tries to pull himself out of it. Not for the first time that day, he has the deranged thought that it’s probably a good thing there’s no one around to see him. He tries to anchor himself in the silence, counting out his inhales and exhales, until the sound of footsteps echo into his consciousness.

Footsteps. Fuck.

He tries to force himself out of it, straightening up and swiping at his eyes, but it all comes crashing down again when Bitty turns the corner. “Jack,” he breathes when he spots him. He’s crouching down in front of him in an instant, hands hovering above Jack’s knees as he looks up at him with concern. “What happened? Can I touch you?”

Jack jerks his head in a nod. “Stay,” he manages, desperately trying to breathe. “Please stay with me.”

Bitty takes a deep breath as his palms come down to rest on Jack’s knees. The contact steadies him. “Of course I’ll stay, sweetpea. Tell me what you need.”

“No. I mean.” Jack gasps. “Stay with me.”

“Sweetheart.” Bitty reaches for Jack’s shaking hands, squeezing gently. “I need you to breathe with me, okay?” He takes a big breath and nods encouragingly when Jack inhales along with him.

Jack roots himself in Bitty’s quiet encouragement until he matches him breath for breath and the pressure in his chest has loosened slightly. He tries to focus on the gentle circles Bitty’s rubbing onto his hands. After what feels like hours but is probably only a few minutes, his breathing finally evens out and his trembling subsides.

He uses his last bit of energy to tug at Bitty until he’s sitting sideways on his lap, and his weight is immediately grounding. Bitty’s hands come up to frame Jack’s face, gently swiping under his eyes with his thumbs. “You okay, sweetpea?”

Jack sighs. “I was just…” He trails off. The box in the corner stares back at him ominously. “I think it just hit me. Sorry.”

“First of all, don’t apologize, okay?” Bitty tilts his chin upward, and Jack looks up to find his eyes soft and understanding. “Jack, honey. You’ll be fine.” He gives him a small smile. “Chowder is excellent, he’s already better than I ever was and he’s just starting. And I have a couple of months free trying to get this thing off the ground anyway. I promise you you won’t miss me. Not if I can help it.”

“It’s not the same.” Jack shakes his head. “I need _you_. You could still stay.” 

Bitty’s expression hardens. It lasts for maybe half a second, but Jack doesn’t miss it. Bitty squeezes his eyes shut for a moment before looking back at him. “Jack.” His tone is pleading.

Jack looks down in guilt, instantly wishing he could take it back. “I know. I’m sorry.”

Bitty bites his lip, frowning. “You know I have to do this.”

Jack nods desperately. “I know.”

“And I know things are changing and that can be scary,” Bitty continues, watching him carefully. “But I need you to be on my side. Whatever happens, we can handle it, okay? Together.”

Jack sucks in a breath, still nodding. “I know. Bits, I’m so sorry, I don’t know what…” Well, he kind of does know what, but he knows no part of it is rational. Regardless, he still feels like shit for what he said. Especially when he can’t say he didn’t really mean it. “I’m sorry,” he whispers.

Bitty brushes his bangs away with gentle fingers. “I know, sweetpea. It’s okay.”

Jack makes a strangled noise. “It’s not, but thank you,” he says, looking up into Bitty’s eyes. He takes a big breath. Exhales shakily. “Thank you for staying with me.” He means, _thank you for always being there when I need you._ He means, _I believe in you and I want you to be happy._ He means, _I would do anything for you._

Bitty gives him a soft smile. “Of course, honey.”

  
  
  


The doorbell echoes through Bitty’s apartment.

Bitty cracks one eye open to squint at his phone. It is 8 AM on a Saturday. Way too early by any and all of his standards.

He lets out a loud groan, rolling over and glaring at his ceiling. He’s not expecting any packages today, much less any visitors, but it would be rude to keep someone waiting outside. He rolls out of bed, pulling on the nearest hoodie and running his hands through his hair, before grumbling the whole way down to get the door. He yanks it open to find—

No one.

Confused, he steps outside to peer around the corner and almost trips on something on the ground. It’s a white box, small and rectangular, with a note addressed to him stuck to the top. He recognizes the handwriting immediately and takes one more look around to see if Jack’s car is still around somewhere.

Nothing.

He’s slightly disappointed that he apparently just missed his boyfriend, but right now he’s more curious as to what’s inside the box. He closes the door behind him and sits on the steps, unwilling to wait any longer.

A surprised laugh bubbles out of him when he recognizes the stuffed bunny from the claw machine that Jack had desperately tried to win for him on their date. He imagines Jack standing outside that random restaurant, cursing at the machine with a pocketful of coins until he finally won. It’s ridiculously endearing and makes him giggle.

It’s almost enough to make him forget about last night. Of course, Jack had immediately apologized about it, which made Bitty’s heart twist, but it did still sting a little that he’d tried to get him to stay, even for a second. He knows he can’t hold it against Jack that he’s upset about his resignation, but he wasn’t expecting him to try to get him to stay. Not after he’d so thoroughly and carefully helped him with his business plan. Not when he thought he had his full support.

Upon closer inspection, attached to the bunny’s belly is a sticky note. In Jack’s neat scrawl, it reads: _Nobunny compares to you._ Bitty snorts, rolling his eyes as he peels it off, revealing yet another note: _10 AM for coffee? My treat_ , followed by a smiley face and an unfamiliar address.

Back in his apartment, he stares at the note, trying to visualize the area, but he comes up with nothing. He’s tempted to check Google Maps, but inanely, he doesn’t want to ruin the surprise. If this was Jack’s way of apologizing, he’s not going to spoil it for himself.

He settles for taking a selfie with newly-dubbed Monsieur Lapin and sending it to Jack. _Monsieur Lapin dit bun-jour,_ he writes, snickering at his own pun.

Jack responds immediately. _Dites-lui de vous faire un câlin pour moi. A bientôt! :)_

Bitty hugs the stuffed bunny to his chest as he falls back into bed. He doesn’t know if he wants to swoon or groan in frustration at his boyfriend’s antics.

He checks his phone again for the time—8:15, still almost two hours til he has to meet Jack—and then he sees the date and realizes that today is technically his first day free from assistanthood. The first day of the rest of his life.

It still begins with Jack. Not as his boss anymore, but hopefully, as an equal. A partner.

Bitty can’t wait.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> FRENCH TRANSLATIONS (that I Googled thoroughly but pls let me know if they're wrong T_T):  
> Jack: Christ, you’re perfect. Don’t leave me.  
> Bitty: I have to do it, my dear.
> 
> Bitty: Monsieur Lapin says good morning (+ a pun about bunnies lol)!  
> Jack: Tell him to give you a hug for me. See you soon!
> 
> THE CAKES ARE REAL CAKES. Gag cakes are the best. Click through for the original images: [The team's cake for Bitty](https://i.pinimg.com/originals/b7/8b/25/b78b25e47c082355e52cf72260918e6f.jpg), [Bitty's cake](https://pbs.twimg.com/media/D4iISc6XsAMoWAY.jpg)
> 
> WOOSH this chapter was HARD to WRITE and took FOREVER but we MADE IT!! I deadass thought it was going to end up being really short but I still ended up with this?? Quarantine is wild.
> 
> Thank you again so much for your lovely comments and kudos ❤️ One chapter left, y'all!


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> AHHHH!! I can't believe we're at the end!!!
> 
> Hope this was worth the wait! Thanks so so much for reading 💓

Bitty doesn’t know what he was expecting to find at the address Jack left him.

Okay, no, that’s not true—he actually knew what he was expecting: a coffee shop. Or a café or a restaurant of some sort, since Jack said they were going to have coffee.

He certainly was not expecting a deserted vacant commercial space in the middle of downtown Providence.

Its whole front wall is made of glass, so Bitty can just see inside as he approaches, but from his vantage point, the space looks completely bare; all he sees are stripped concrete walls and a few wires dangling from the ceiling. He’s still standing on the opposite side of the road, idly wondering if Jack is really coming or if he’s somehow been lured here by an axe murderer and he’s about to face an untimely death, when Jack suddenly appears right outside of the space, holding two coffee cups with a smile that immediately brightens when he spots Bitty. It’s been a few weeks since they got together, but he still gets a full body thrill whenever Jack smiles at him like that.

“Are you going to kill me?” Bitty demands once he’s crossed the street and after accepting a quick kiss for his troubles. “Is there an axe murderer waiting inside for me?”

Jack laughs, raising both coffee cups in surrender. “Damn. Got me there.” He holds one out to Bitty. “Here.”

Bitty eyes him suspiciously as he takes the proffered coffee and sniffs at it. His eyes widen when he recognizes the smell. “How did you get a PSL in the middle of July?!” He takes a big gulp of it immediately, savoring the taste.

“I have my ways,” Jack says with a cheeky wink. He holds his free hand out to Bitty. “Let’s go meet that axe murderer, eh?”

Bitty huffs but takes Jack’s hand anyway, following him inside.

The door is already open when Jack pushes it, and Bitty realizes he was terribly wrong about being able to see inside through the glass because he hadn’t spotted the single table and two chairs set up in the center. He looks around, equal parts suspicious and curious about what they’re doing here, as he catalogues the high ceiling and the spacious counter. It’s a nice open space with tons of natural lighting, giving it a touch of warmth even though everything around him is gray. He wonders if Jack’s somehow going to rope him into some kind of construction project? But why would he even ask _him_ for help with something like that?

Oblivious to Bitty’s internal monologue, Jack leads him to the table, pulling out a chair for him to sit on, all while Bitty squints at him.

“What’s going on?” Bitty asks when Jack’s finally seated. He puts down his coffee and takes in the spread of pastries in front of him—scones, croissants, muffins—before looking back up at Jack, who’s still smiling at him.

“Figured I might give you a glimpse of what eating at your own bakery-slash-café would be like,” Jack says, his eyes flicking around the room like it’s supposed to mean something. “I mean, your food will obviously be better, I just picked these up at Annie’s for props, but…” He shrugs. “Close enough, right?”

Bitty squints at him. “I don’t understand.”

Jack sighs, running a hand through his hair. It’s a nervous tic that Bitty recognizes immediately. “It’s yours, Bitty. If you want it. This space is yours.”

Bitty’s mouth falls open on its own accord. “Wait, what? What do you mean, it’s mine? You didn’t—” He’s immediately horrified at the thought that pops in his head. “You didn’t buy this space for me, did you? Oh my god!” No matter how much he loves Jack, he doesn’t want to feel indebted to him about this forever. Not to mention how mortified he would be if people found out—like some sort of nepotism or something?! There was no way he would ever accept that!

“No!” Jack’s eyebrows shoot upwards immediately. “No, I didn’t buy it! I mean, cards on the table, I wanted to. But I didn’t.”

Bitty almost sags in relief until he realizes that he still has no idea what he means. “So what…?” 

“Do you like it?” Jack asks suddenly, looking hopeful.

Does he like it? Bitty looks around, suddenly seeing the place with new eyes now that he knows it’s a viable candidate for a location. It doesn’t take much effort to imagine: cozy booths in the corner, a shelf on the far wall lined with knick knacks, a glowing sign behind the counter. It’s bigger than the other spaces he’d been looking at, and it’s in a prime location. He hasn’t even seen the kitchen yet, but there’s no doubt in his mind: it’s the perfect place for his bakery. Of course he likes it. “I... Jack, this looks like someone saw the bakery in my head and somehow manifested it smack dab in the middle of downtown.”

Jack smiles at him as if he can see the image forming in Bitty’s head. “We were looking at this as a potential location for Craft Coffee,” he finally explains. “That fell through, obviously, because we opened somewhere else, but when I was reading your business plan, I immediately remembered this place. I called my dad—he’s friends with the owner of the building.” Bitty snorts at that, which Jack gives him a shrug for, like _what can ya do,_ before continuing. “Anyway, he said it was still available, so. Here we are.”

Bitty stares at Jack, trying to digest what he just heard. He’s excited by this new prospect—oh god, he’s so excited—but there’s a part of him that’s still hesitant. He looks around again, and it’s like he’s looking through yet another filter: the Can I Actually Afford This filter. The worst one yet. “Jack, this is all so thoughtful of you, but I could never afford this place,” he says, and hearing it out loud is almost enough to make tears well up in his eyes in disappointment.

Jack grabs his hand on the table, stroking it lightly with his thumb. “Like I said, my dad’s old friends with the owner, so I may have negotiated the price down. The guy owes my dad for a lot of things over the years, and he cashed in part of it with this.” He speaks slowly without being patronizing, like he knows Bitty needs time to process, and there’s a gentle smile on his lips. It may also be slightly chirpy. “I also have the first three months of rent prepaid because I know you’ll probably have _me_ axe murdered for buying the space and giving it to you for free, so. This was the next best thing.”

The tears threaten to spill out then, and Bitty has to bite his lip to keep them from falling. He’s getting whiplash from how quickly his emotions keep changing, and it’s all Jack’s fault. He stands abruptly, not sure about what to do with this sudden burst of energy. “You—you—!” He lets out a frustrated growl. “You _really_ didn’t have to do this!”

Jack stands, too, for some reason. He looks entirely too amused. “Well, I did. What are you gonna do about it?”

Bitty steps up into his space, glaring at him. “Right after I kill you, you mean?”

Jack laughs as he matches his steps until they’re toe to toe, and then he takes his lips in a gentle kiss. “Let me do this for you, please.”

Bitty softens immediately, his eyes searching Jack’s. “Why should I?”

“This is me letting you go,” Jack says, sighing. He runs his hands down the length of Bitty’s arms and tangles their fingers together. “Not that you needed my permission, obviously. But I felt like shit after yesterday, and I’m so sorry if I ever made you feel bad about your decision to do this.” His eyes are soft and sincere, and Bitty wants to kiss him again. “I want you to know that I’ve got your back, bud. Always.”

Bitty’s resolve finally breaks, and he launches himself up at Jack, flinging his arms around his neck. “You ridiculous, wonderful man,” he all but sobs into Jack’s chest. “I don’t know what I did to deserve you, Jack Zimmermann. _Thank you_. Oh my _god_.” He yanks Jack down into a kiss that doesn’t last long because of how much they’re both smiling into it.

Jack rests a hand on Bitty’s cheek, using his thumb to swipe away his tears. “You’ve spent the last four years doing things for me, Bits. Let me do things for you. I like doing things for you.”

Bitty shakes his head, bewildered. “Why?” He’s still at a loss about everything. He can’t for the life of him understand why Jack would do something of this magnitude for him. Even though thinking about starting his own business seems much less daunting now that he has Jack by his side.

Jack is smiling at him, his eyes full of warmth, and suddenly, Bitty understands completely. “Because I love you,” he says carefully, like he’s savoring the words, “and I’m proud of you, and I want you to be happy.”

 _Oh_.

Bitty tackles him again, this time sealing his lips over Jack’s in a deep, slow kiss that goes on for ages and makes his toes curl. “I love you, too,” he says when they finally pull away ever so slightly, still so close Jack probably feels the words on his lips. “Oh, God, I love you so, so much, sweetpea. I love you.” Now that he’s started saying it, he never wants to stop.

Jack chuckles, nudging their noses together. “I love you,” he tells him again, and Bitty feels like he’s going to float away with happiness. “Are you still going to kill me?”

Bitty laughs then, and it echoes through the room. The room that will soon hold his bakery, _oh my goodness._ “I think you’re the one trying to kill me, honestly,” he says. “Springing this on me all of a sudden. Give me a heart attack, why don’t you?”

He immediately regrets it when a slow, sexy smirk spreads on Jack’s face. “Is that a challenge, Bittle?”

Bitty kisses him again just to wipe the grin off his face. “You’re a shit,” he informs him. “I love you so much.”

  
  
  


A bit later, after Jack shows him the (gorgeous, spacious) kitchen, when they’re back at the table and sharing the pastries Jack brought:

“Jack.”

“Yes?”

“How long did it take you to win the bunny?”

  
  
  


On Sunday afternoon, when Bitty opens his door to reveal Jack in a sleek navy suit that fits him like a second skin, holding a bouquet of flowers and smiling sheepishly, he quietly thinks he could probably come up with a way to get them both out of the day’s events. People might look for the project head of the launch and the CEO of the company that owns the facility, but he thinks he could pull a few strings to make it work. And then he could keep his gorgeous hunk of a boyfriend hostage at his apartment for the rest of the day and maybe forever, right?

Jack clears his throat, effectively snapping Bitty out of his elaborate plan to get out of the launch he’d spent the better part of the last month planning. “Ready to go, bud?” His smile is a touch too smug.

Bitty feels his cheeks heat. “Yup,” he says, taking Jack’s arm when he offers.

It’s early when they arrive at Faber, still hours before the event officially begins. Bitty hadn’t been able to keep the program from Jack for much longer after they stepped into the lobby and found Mr. Simmons already there with Dustin “Snowy” Snow and Patrick “Pasta” Gagne, two of the Falconers’ starting players. Jack had raised an inquisitive brow at Bitty upon spotting them but Bitty had just smiled at him, dragging him by the elbow to say hi.

After a quick and easy conversation with them (mostly Jack congratulating them on their season and Simmons asking after Jack’s father), Bitty leads Jack down one of the hallways. He’s sure Jack has probably gleaned the nature of the event from their little chat, and by the looks of it—at least judging by the way he’s smiling down at Bitty, all soft and fond—he seems pretty pleased with it.

“So it’s a hockey camp,” Jack says simply.

“It is a hockey camp, yes.”

“For children.”

“Mm, yes, that does seem to be the primary target for hockey camps.”

“With the Falcs.”

Bitty hums in agreement, still walking straight ahead. Out of the corner of his eye, he can see Jack grinning widely at him. “Yes, I believe you just talked to a couple of them. I started setting up a long-term partnership with them, Simmons seemed kind of pleased that I had suggested it, anyway, so I’ve got them talking to PR—” 

Jack grabs Bitty by the elbow, forcing him to finally stop and look. “Bits.”

“Yes, Mr. Zimmermann?” Bitty aims for a casual tone, but his voice comes out reedy.

Jack presses his lips together, like he’s trying not to laugh, as he takes a step forward. “I would ask you how you managed to pull this together, but I feel like that would discredit the fact that I know you’re an incredible planner and that you somehow work magic when it comes to these things.”

Bitty shrugs, feeling his cheeks heat. “There may have been a few pies involved…”

Jack laughs. “Of course.”

“Anyway,” Bitty says, hand slipping down to grab Jack’s. “I wanted to show you something. Before I gotta run around like a headless chicken and make sure we’re on schedule.”

Jack gives him a curious look, but gestures forward. “Lead the way.”

Bitty takes them down the hall and into the rink (through the massive balloon arch and a row of flowers), stopping abruptly at the entrance.

Jack turns to him, brows furrowed even though he’s still smiling. “You wanted to show me… the rink?”

“No, silly.” Bitty rolls his eyes, placing his hands on Jack’s biceps to turn him around bodily. “I wanted to show you _that._ ”

This was always the real surprise, the one that, surprisingly, required more phone calls and emails than setting up the actual event with the Falconers: the framed game-worn Bad Bob Zimmermann jersey from his ‘91 Cup win with the Penguins, signed, next to Jack’s own jersey from his Frozen Four championship for Harvard. 

Bitty watches Jack’s reaction with rapt attention as he takes in the framed jerseys and the small pictures and plaques on the wall. His mouth falls open slightly, and his eyes track the display like he’s not quite sure what he’s looking at. Finally, he turns to Bitty, and his expression is one of complete disbelief: eyes and mouth wide open. “How did you get my jersey?”

Bitty laughs. “Shitty helped. You’d think _someone_ would have had the good sense to keep the captain’s jersey safe somewhere for posterity, but we must have called all your team managers and coaching staff just to track it down.” 

Jack shakes his head, looking back at the wall to take it all in. Bitty sees the exact moment he finds the dedication on the biggest plaque, closest to the entrance. “This rink is named after NHL legend Robert “Bad Bob” Zimmermann and his son, Jack Zimmermann, who led his Harvard hockey team to its first NCAA Championship in twenty-two years,” Jack reads out loud, before looking at Bitty. “I don’t remember signing off on that.” 

Bitty bites his lip nervously. “Well, your dad did.”

Jack grins at him, wide and open. “You’re incredible.”

Bitty juts his chin out, shrugging slightly just to deflect. “So I’ve been told.”

Jack shakes his head again, steps in closer to grab his hand again. “Thank you,” he says. His eyes are warm and crystal clear and his voice is low.

Bitty squeezes his hand and the words rush out of him all at once. “I know how much hockey meant—means—to you, and I know that your dad’s legacy has haunted you all your life,” he says. “But I wanted you to have a reminder that _you_ did this, Jack. _You_ grew this company into what it is today, and then you went and built _this_ , this place where people can come together around a thing they love.” He gestures to the rink with a little laugh. “You have your own legacy, sweetheart, and I’m so, so proud of you.”

“Thank you.” Jack’s cheeks turn a little pink as he steps closer. “I couldn’t have done any of it without you.” He looks around quickly, and he must not find anyone else in the rink because he leans down to kiss Bitty briefly, softly, leaving him breathless.

The rest of the day goes by in a blur—thankfully, the program begins right on time, all the gear is complete, the kids are adorable and determined, and the Falconers stay cheerful and welcoming for the entirety of it. Bitty even gets a few minutes to skate around with Jack, Shitty, and the rest of the Comms team, and he gets roped into doing a few jumps by some of the kids, (after which Jack’s smoldering gaze follows him all the way across the room as he coordinates with the host for the last few activities) and before he knows it, they’re down to Jack’s closing remarks.

He stands in front of everyone, tall and unbelievably handsome, his hair a little tousled and his cheeks a little red, and he speaks about how hockey was probably his first love, how he wouldn’t be the man he is today without it. Towards the end of his speech, he finds Bitty, standing just behind the flock of kids kneeling on the ice, and his blue eyes light up with warmth. He says, “This event today would not be possible without my executive assistant, Eric Bittle. Today is his last day working with us, but he is the kindest, most thoughtful, and most hardworking person I know, and I’d like to thank him for everything he’s done for me and this company,” and it’s all Bitty can do not to burst into a puddle of tears right then and there.

He feels a tightening in his chest at the realization that this is really it, the end of his time at the Zimmermann Group, but it’s immediately followed by a surge of pride for himself. Four years ago, he would have never imagined that he could come up with anything as successful as this event, let alone doing it alongside a host of other responsibilities. He’d done so much, learned so much, grown so much in the past four years—the company and all the people he’s met through it have done so much for him, too. 

Jack makes a beeline for him when he’s done, and Bitty wants to kiss him so badly but there are so many people around, so he settles for a fierce hug, which Jack returns enthusiastically.

“We did it,” he breathes in Jack’s ear, and Jack lets out a quiet laugh.

“We did,” he agrees, pressing a quick kiss to Bitty’s cheek. 

Bitty sighs dramatically when they have to part to perform the last of their duties. He thanks the Falconers and their GM for their participation as he shows them out, handing out boxes of mini pies as they go, then watches as Jack fields questions and selfie requests from excited parents and business partners and members of the media until the rink is almost completely cleared, save for a few members of the Faber staff who are cleaning up.

Bitty’s about ready to collapse on his couch with Jack and sleep the rest of the day away, but Jack takes his hand with a mischievous grin on his face. “Okay, don’t kill me,” he starts.

“Oh my god, this better not be another surprise.” Bitty narrows his eyes at him, crossing his arms. “Is it?”

“Maybe,” Jack hedges, “but this one isn’t my fault, I promise.”

Bitty sighs in resignation. “Sure it isn’t.”

“Okay, fine, it’s not _wholly_ my fault,” Jack amends. “Just one last thing, babe, please. You’re going to love it.”

Bitty feels his resolve crumble at the pet name. “Babe?”

Jack’s face breaks into a smirk like the little shit that he is. “Did it work?”

Bitty stares resolutely up at him, but Jack’s eyebrows are raised in challenge, almost daring him to lie and say no. He groans, throwing his hands up in defeat. “Ugh! Fine!”

“Yay,” Jack deadpans, leading him out of the rink towards the opposite wing. When they reach the double doors of what Bitty thinks is a conference room of some sort, Jack tells him to at least act surprised. Bitty makes a show of reluctantly agreeing, but he’s secretly delighted and kind of excited to find out what awaits him. 

This time, when they yell surprise, he’s a little prepared for it: Ransom, Holster, Lardo, Shitty, Dex, Nursey, and Chowder huddled around him, surrounded by a bunch of their other co-workers and the entire executive board, and the huge tarp with his face on it that reads _Congratulations and good luck!_

What he isn’t prepared for is the huge, gleaming oven with an enormous red bow stuck to its front, tucked in the far corner of the room, incredibly conspicuous amongst the haphazardly-strewn dollar store party decor.

This time, the tears fall on their own accord and he has to sputter through them. “I can’t believe y’all—how’d y’all—when did y’all—AHH!” He crashes back into Jack, hiding his burning face in his shirt.

The crowd cheers at his expense, and he feels more than hears Jack chuckling as he settles a supportive hand on the small of his back.

“YES! Finally!” Ransom yells. Bitty peeks out from Jack’s chest just in time to see him pumping his fist and grinning maniacally.

“What do you mean, finally?!” he shrieks, finally peeling himself off Jack to glare at his wonderful, thoughtful co-workers.

“You didn’t cry over our cake!” Shitty pouts at him, but it’s not long before he’s bursting into an equally shit-eating grin.

Lardo smirks at him. “We figured this would do the trick, though.”

Bitty launches himself onto her, hugging each of them before going back to sobbing into Jack’s shirt.

He takes a bit of time to fawn over the gorgeous oven they got him, which they claim to have all pitched in for but Bitty thinks is probably code for they each gave what they could and then let Jack take care of the rest. It’s a double decker convection oven, the kind Bitty could only ever dream of having, and he honestly has half a mind to smack his boyfriend into oblivion for spoiling him so much, but he’s too overwhelmed by emotion to actually do anything other than weep and coo at his brand new baby oven. He’s officially decided to name it Betsy II, in honor of the old, reliable oven in his apartment.

The party kicks into full gear after that—Ransom and Holster had planned an entire program, mostly consisting of increasingly elaborate ways to embarrass Bitty (including a heated game of charades where they each had to act out a flavor of Bitty’s pies) and then dinner and drinks. Bitty had initially been a little upset that he hadn’t gotten to bake anything for all the guests, but they’d gotten the whole thing catered by his favorite of the company’s franchises, an Italian cafe called Arancia, so he decided to let it slide just this once.

As the party winds down (pretty early, because it’s a Sunday), he looks around the room as he sits at a table with his friends and boyfriend, their casual banter a comforting noise that surrounds him. It’s bittersweet to be finally closing this chapter of his life, and he realizes, as he looks around at his friends, that he’s going to miss them fiercely, but he feels in his gut that it’s not something he needs to worry about: he’s definitely made these friends for life.

“No goodbyes,” Lardo tells him solemnly, pulling him into one last hug when they’ve finally cleaned up and everyone else has gone home. Ransom and Holster plaster themselves to their sides, and soon enough the whole gang is huddled together in one final group hug.

“Just see you later,” Bitty agrees, holding on tight.

  
  
  


Afterwards, Jack drives them both to his house, kisses him gently in the doorway, and leads him to the living room. Bitty all but throws himself onto Jack’s incredibly comfortable couch, nuzzling into a throw pillow.

Jack cards a gentle hand through his hair, pressing a quick kiss there. “You want some tea?”

Bitty’s “Yes, please,” is muffled by the pillow, but before he knows it, Jack is settling down on the couch next to him, offering him a small cup. “Mm, smells good, honey.”

“It’s chamomile,” Jack informs him.

Bitty hums again, kicking his shoes off so he can draw his knees up and tuck his toes under Jack’s thigh before he takes a sip.

“So,” Jack says, turning to Bitty. “You’re officially free.”

Bitty searches his expression for any indication that he’s upset about this fact, but he only finds a slight smile playing on his lips. “Dobby is a free elf!” he cheers jokingly.

Jack laughs, rolling his eyes. “What’s it like?”

“Why, it is _excellent_ ,” Bitty replies. “My boss was kind of a pain in the ass, to be honest.”

Jack jostles him a little for that. “Yeah?”

“Oh, yeah. He’s pretty cute, though.”

“Is he, now?” Jack asks, putting his cup down and leaning into Bitty’s space. He presses a quick kiss to the corner of Bitty’s mouth and keeps his lips hovering a few inches away from a real kiss.

“He’s also a tease,” Bitty says, nudging their noses together before pulling away abruptly and sipping at his tea.

Jack chokes out another laugh, snatching his tea back and drinking the rest of it. They spend an inordinate time just staring at each other, hiding their smiles in their teacups, until Bitty shifts on the couch and feels the weight in his pocket shift with him.

“So, anyway, since I’m free now,” Bitty says, settling his cup down and reaching into his jacket. “I believe this belongs to you.” He pulls out the lone key he’s been keeping in his pocket all day and presses it into Jack’s hand.

Jack had always insisted on keeping standard locks in his home, and no amount of trying to convert him to smart locks had helped (which is just as well, honestly, considering how hopeless he is with technology). Bitty always found it a little absurd that he had the key to his boss’s home, but it was also a tangible sign of Jack’s trust—after all, he’d been letting himself into this house for the better part of four years, picking out Jack’s outfits and basically engineering his life. The key was a privilege as much as it was a responsibility, and it was time to let it go.

Jack takes one look at the key in his hand before taking one of Bitty’s. “Keep it,” he says, placing the key in the center of his palm and closing his fingers around it.

Bitty feels a swell of emotion take over his chest, and he looks up at Jack questioningly. “Are you sure?”

“I mean, you don’t have to if you don’t want to, of course, but I want you to have it,” Jack rambles, smiling sheepishly. “I mean, it would be kind of weird to take it back now? Plus you can use it for when you want to use the kitchen, or the gym, or the pool. Literally anything. _Ma maison, c’est ta maison_.” He smiles then, and there’s a mischievous edge to it. “And if you decided you wanted to surprise me with breakfast on your days off, I wouldn’t be opposed to that either.”

Bitty stares at him, trying to decide if he should argue, but... the idea of having Jack’s beautiful kitchen at his disposal is incredibly appealing, especially when he has to start building his menu. He twists his mouth wryly, returning the key to his pocket. “Just breakfast, Mr. Zimmermann?”

Jack lifts his chin in response. “Well, and any breakfast-adjacent activities.”

Bitty feigns confusion. “Such as?” he inquires.

“Such as,” Jack says, leaning in close to flick his tongue over the seam of Bitty’s lips, “that.”

Bitty closes the gap, opening his lips to kiss him firmly and thoroughly. “Mm, well, _that_ can certainly be arranged.” 

Jack deepens the kiss, delving closer to lick into Bitty’s mouth and tangling his fingers in his hair. He lets Bitty peel his suit off of him, like Bitty’s wanted to since he first saw him that afternoon, lets him straddle him on the couch, lets him grind down on his lap until they’re both achingly hard, until he apparently decides he’s had enough and flips them, laying Bitty down on the couch and taking him apart with his mouth. They take their time, hands wandering, lips lingering, coaxing groans of pleasure out of each other, until they’re both shaking and sated.

Afterwards, Bitty slumps down onto Jack, laughing breathlessly. “Oh my god,” he giggles into Jack’s shoulder. “I’m so fucking _tired_.”

Jack laughs into his hair, pressing a soft kiss there. “Bed?” he asks.

Bitty sighs deeply, not really wanting to move, but the mess in between them is getting to be uncomfortable. “Bed,” he agrees, before begrudgingly getting up. 

They get ready for bed together, standing next to each other as they brush their teeth and wash their faces, and Bitty revels in how sweetly domestic and intimate it all is. The first time he spent the night here, he had not been all that surprised to discover that Jack’s night routine is just as structured as his morning routine, but he was pleasantly surprised to find that he seemed to slot into it so easily, that Jack was so willing and ready to make space for him here, in his home.

He now knows that Jack tends to get overheated at night and, as a consequence, sleeps shirtless (Bitty says a quick thanksgiving prayer for this), that he keeps a Hydroflask of cold water on his bedside table so he doesn’t have to go downstairs to the kitchen in the middle of the night, and that he likes to sleep on the right side of the bed.

Bitty steals a threadbare Habs shirt from Jack’s closet and shrugs into it before he burrows under the covers, snuggling up to Jack. Jack ducks down to kiss Bitty before he reaches into his bedside drawer, pulls out a journal and a pen, and gives him a slightly apologetic smile. “Do you mind? It’ll only be a few minutes.”

Bitty is utterly charmed by the fact that his absolute dork of a boyfriend apparently keeps a journal, so he nods. It’s another thing only he gets to see, and he loves him for it. “Of course not, sweetpea. Take your time.”

He scrolls through Instagram as Jack scribbles away, but at some point, he gets bored of seeing one too many pool party pictures and decides to watch Jack instead. Jack doesn’t seem to notice, or if he does, he doesn’t mind—his expression is open and relaxed as he writes, and Bitty lets himself enjoy this side of Jack that he’s seeing for the first time. He’s suddenly struck with an excitement for all the other little things he’ll hopefully get to know about this man in the future.

“It helps with the anxiety,” Jack explains as he tucks the journal away. “I’ve found that if I put everything down on paper, there’s less of a chance that they swirl around in my head the whole night. And when there are nice things, it’s a good reminder to hold on to those moments a little bit.” He opens his arms, coaxing Bitty into his embrace.

Bitty scoots into his chest and flings an arm over his waist. “What did you write about?” he asks, looking up at Jack.

“Oh, you know.” Jack smiles down at him. “Same thing I always write about these days.”

“Which is?”

“You,” Jack says matter-of-factly.

Bitty laughs, shaking his head. “I didn’t know you did that,” he muses. “There was a time when I thought I knew everything about you, you know?”

“Oh, yeah?” Jack mirrors Bitty’s position, raising a challenging brow. “Everything?”

Bitty sits up straighter so he can count on his fingers. “Your favorite sneakers are an outrageous fluorescent yellow. Your favorite tie is the blue Burberry one your mom gave you for your 25th birthday. You take your coffee black, like some sort of heathen. You pick the croutons out of your salad instead of asking them to not put them in. You hate mayonnaise, which is blasphemous, because mayonnaise is the best.” He gives Jack a little glare with this, which makes him laugh. “You have this irrational hate for zip ties, and you’re incredible with numbers. You secretly love it when I put maple syrup in my apple pie. You get outrageously competitive about the dumbest things, and you won’t quit until you’ve won. You’re annoyingly stubborn, and you like doing things for other people. You’re stern, and bossy, and sometimes cranky, but also kind, caring, and sincere. You were so concerned about me being late that you bought me a car.”

Jack frowns at him. “The bus was making you late. I couldn’t just have you be late everyday.”

“That was, like, one time!” Bitty retorts, giggling. “Okay, maybe two times tops.”

Jack shakes his head, smiling fondly down at him. “I know stuff about you, too, you know,” he whispers, brushing Bitty’s bangs back with his fingers.

Bitty tips his head up. “Mm, like what?”

Jack kisses his forehead gently. “Like... you eat chips off the floor.”

Bitty squawks at that, pushing at Jack’s chest to look at him. “How did you know that?”

Jack chuckles at Bitty’s indignant frown. “I can see you from my desk, Bittle.”

“Ugh,” Bitty huffs, settling back down in Jack’s arms. “What else?”

Jack grins at him. “You like your coffee absurdly sweet. You bake when you’re happy, but even more when you’re stressed. You get this cute little crease in your brow when you’re confused, and you wrinkle your nose when you’re thinking. You were an excellent hockey player. I looked up your tape. You never give yourself enough credit for how good you are.”

Bitty blushes instantly at the praise. “I had really good teammates!” he insists.

“You blush easily when someone compliments you, even though you always deflect,” Jack continues, tracing a finger around the apples of his cheeks. Bitty, impossibly, flushes even harder, but apparently, there’s no stopping Jack now. “Your dimples are incredibly distracting. You own at least two pairs of absurdly short shorts that drive me crazy. You’re so generous, the most generous person I’ve ever met, and you love taking care of people.”

“I love taking care of _you_ ,” Bitty corrects. 

“And I love that about you,” Jack agrees instantly.

They stare at each other for a moment, and Bitty takes the time to memorize the way Jack is looking at him, like he’s everything good in the world at once. Jack reaches up to cup Bitty’s cheek and Bitty draws him into a soft kiss.

“I love you,” Jack tells him when they separate. “I think I’ve always loved you. I don’t know why I couldn’t see it before.”

“Well,” Bitty says, grinning up at him. “I think you’ll have a long time for make up for that, Mr. Zimmermann.”

  
  
  


Jack Zimmermann has a new morning routine. It’s not as consistent as before and not nearly as structured, but it’s every bit as reliable, and he’s determined to make it stick. 

He now wakes up at 4 AM to his beautiful boyfriend pressing a kiss to his temple before he crawls out of bed to get ready for work. He sometimes attempts to drag him back, flinging his limbs over his body and latching on until Bitty squirms out of his grasp, giggling all the way to the bathroom. He goes back to sleep for another two hours, and then he gets up, gets dressed, and goes for his run.

He takes a new route now, one that takes him by Bitty Bites just as it opens so that he can greet his boyfriend with a proper good morning kiss and grab a croissant and some coffee for breakfast. After that, he goes home, freshens up, puts on the clothes that Bitty finally taught him how to match by himself, and then goes to work.

It doesn’t always go as planned. Sometimes, he gets a bagel with cream cheese or a banana chocolate chip muffin instead of a croissant. Sometimes, his attempts to keep Bitty in bed are successful, and Jack ends up having to drop Bitty off at the bakery just so he won’t be late. (He doesn’t mind and thinks it’s totally worth it.) Sometimes, Jack skips his run altogether and drives Bitty to work for the hell of it, helping him prep and watching him dance around the kitchen. Sometimes, Bitty takes a day off and sleeps in, texting Chowder on Jack’s behalf that he’s going to be late, and they spend the morning luxuriating in the sunlight and each other’s company. 

Jack doesn’t mind the inconsistencies, though. Whatever the case, he always ends up ready to face the day, knowing that tomorrow, he’ll get to do it all again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "Ma maison, c’est ta maison" = basically "mi casa es su casa" in French LOL
> 
> LONG NOTES THAT GOT A LIL SOAPBOX-Y SORRY IN ADVANCE
> 
> TL;DR: There’s a lot going on, especially in my country and in the US right now, but thank you so so much for reading, and I hope this serves as a lil pick me up! These are dark times we’re going through but it’s so important that we hold on to things that make us happy while we also fight for justice and peace for all!
> 
> SO FIRST, STORY WISE: I’ve always been aware, especially in this current political climate, that huge multinational companies like the one Jack happens to run are a huge, huge systemic problem that plagues many economies. They’re not good for SMEs, they feed on exploitation, and their owners are generally a bunch of selfish, out-of-touch dickwads, so writing this has been kind of weird for me, like battling my own disillusionment about capitalism with mental gymnastics so it’s like, no, this is a Utopia, Jack’s a Good CEO™ that runs a Good Company™ with ethical practices and he’s mostly rich from his parents being rich and not from running a company that spans multiple industries and countries because they don't exploit their workers and spend tons of money on outreach and community facilities like Faber!!! *hysterical laughter* Anyway, I figured I could just not really go into the details of the company and focus more on the relationship MAN I just really wanted to write a WWWSK AU!!! TBH!!!
> 
> ON THAT NOTE: While this pandemic has definitely given me a lot of time to write, it’s also been a huge, glaring wake-up call to no longer tolerate the “normal” that we’ve become accustomed to, where capitalists rule society (and the government lol ew), where black people are deprived of their basic human rights, where fascist governments can red-tag innocent citizens as terrorists because of dissent and criticism. It’s good to imagine a world where everything is right and beautiful and rainbows, but right now, it’s also important that we do what we can to actually make that a reality. If you can, please take the time to support the causes that are in dire need of support right now and close to my heart: #JunkTerrorBill (context: my country’s congress just passed a law that basically lets a random appointed party to determine what counts as terrorism, including dissent on social media and other forms of activism, allowing suspects to be arrested and detained without due process and thus endangering freedom of speech in the Philippines) and #BlackLivesMatter (no context needed). Of course, the great thing is we can be aware of what’s going on around the world AND ALSO read and write cute fluffy things! 💛
> 
> ON A MUCH LIGHTER NOTE, if you’ve read this incredibly indulgent fic up to this point, I just wanted to say thank you, thank you, thank you so much!! This is my longest fic to date and I wrote it all in the span of a little over a month, which is absolutely crazytown (esp considering all the things that have happened in that time lol), so I’m so happy and grateful that you guys kept coming back to it ❤️ Seeing your kudos and comments have definitely been the highlight of my days these past few weeks, so thank you again so much!
> 
> Feel free to hit me up on Tumblr (@zimmerhomme) if you want to screech about these hockey boys some more!


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